


Hear You Call My Name

by roggietaylor



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1974 era, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Touring, also its not super strict about tour dates etc thats not why we're here lmao, it's the sheer heart attack tour but without the equipment malfunctions, kind of, roger has the emotional intelligence of an overripe pear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roggietaylor/pseuds/roggietaylor
Summary: Roger and John have a tendency to make out at parties for the 'ooh's and 'aahs' they get in response. Drunk John gets carried away with it one night and has to navigate a lot of complex emotions while Roger absolutely refuses to do the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on an ask I sent @bohemian-rhapsody-slash on tumblr /post/184303026990 !! It deviated from that prompt a little bit but it's the same idea! Comment if you like :)

It started innocently enough when Roger gave John a drunken peck. The girls around them giggled and whistled. John isn’t sure why, but the girls love it. It’s always a surefire way to get them to go home, or back to the hotel, with them. And while Roger has never needed help in that department, he likes to put on a show anyway.

That was part of it too. If Roger felt he wasn’t getting enough of the female attention at any given club or party, he’d grab John’s collar and mash their lips together roughly until they heard whistles or someone pulled him away. John was Roger’s third choice for this particular party trick. Once the original drunken kiss with John worked so well, he tried it with Freddie. But Freddie upstaged him. He moved onto Brian who got embarrassed to quickly, wouldn’t commit to it. So Roger finally settled for John.

John wasn’t one for kissing his friends, especially this often, but having something like this between him and Roger felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. So he let Roger do it. He’d be tapped on the shoulder at a club, on the dance floor, at an afterparty, and Roger would give him that look. A drunken crooked smile and half lidded eyes would get just that bit too close, it was always up to John to close the gap between them. John never knew why but he didn’t care.

“Oi Deaky!” called Roger, somewhere behind him.

John, drink in hand, turned to see a frantic Roger patting every pocket for cigarettes. When Roger finally made it over to him, he patted John’s pockets for cigarettes too. John swatted his hands away and handed him a cigarette.

“Free of charge.” He spoke as softly as he could over the music in the club.

Roger grinned through his cigarette and lit it, taking two long drags before sliding the lighter back into his pocket. John broke out into a smile watching him.

“What?” laughed Roger. John just shrugged. Roger rolled his eyes in response. “Brian got the girls off on the wrong foot tonight.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I was getting on well and for no reason, Brian walks up and starts asking me if ‘my _herpes_ has flared again’,” Roger shook his head through another drag of cigarette.”

“Did you tell the girls with him about his wife?” replied John.

“You know these girls don’t care about that.” Roger glared over his shoulder in Brian’s general direction. Roger pawed at John’s pocket for another cigarette, one for the road.

“Did you come over here just to steal from me?”

Roger shook his head. “I was just checking you were still here in case I needed our little party trick.”

Their flight to their next show was early the next morning. Well, early by their standards which meant it left before 1pm. John planned on leaving once his drink was empty and his arms full of some mystery woman. But he’d stay for Roger, if only to watch him try to convince the girls there that night that Brian was joking about the herpes.

“Let me know,” replied John through a smile that wouldn’t leave his face. Roger winked at him and returned to the girls he’d left. John found a booth with two brunettes. He put an arm around one’s shoulders, and a hand on the other’s knee. John wasn’t boring by any means but he didn’t get himself across as well as Roger or Brian or Freddie in a club setting. Keeping the attention of two drunk women in a club was hard enough for him when he was sober, impossible when he was also drunk.

The woman under his arm stayed though and whispered a lot into John’s ear. He couldn’t hear any of it but he pretended he could as she sucked marks into his neck. He closed his eyes and let her hands wander. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to get done with at the club and what he wanted her to save for the hotel room so he just let her run wild. Well he would’ve if Roger didn’t slide into the booth and slam into them. The woman bit John’s neck accidentally and muttered an apology that John didn’t acknowledge.

“Rog, the fuck is wrong with you?” asked John.

Roger didn’t reply, just looked at him. With that look. Roger got a fistful of his shirt and leaned in. John felt the woman with him begin to pull away. So John hesitated for a moment. He’d been doing fine without their party trick, in fact at this point kissing Roger would only set him back.

“Fuck it,” whispered Roger to himself, though John heard it, and pressed their lips together.

John fell back and leaned on the woman he was supposed to be feeling up as Roger cupped his cheek and expertly slipped his tongue in against John’s. Roger tugged his hair this time. He’d done it before but it was rare. It made John squeak and Roger grin against his lips.

“God, Rog,” whispered John. It came out before his drunken brain had a chance to approve it.

Roger pulled away instantly, brow furrowed and his eyes wide. John didn’t know how he looked but he felt as shocked as Roger looked.

“Ya know…I think I’ll…” said Roger. His words trailed off as he climbed out of the booth. John sat up once he was gone and stared straight head.

“The fuck was that?” said the woman with him with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I—“ began John, suddenly aware he was blushing, “he does that sometimes. Gets girls’ attention apparently.”

“Sure,” said the woman.

John groaned. He didn’t have time to deal with Roger and her. “I’m leaving, are you coming with or not?”

“With,” replied the woman nonchalantly.

She was too loud. John wasn’t one to make girls scream like the others and normally he’d be flattered but tonight it was just a turn off. The whining, the pawing, it was annoying rather than a turn on. He pinned her wrists which she liked but the fucking noise never stopped. So he flipped her over. Manhandling the women he got wasn’t something he’d ever made a habit of so it was clumsy but she was splayed on her stomach either way.

He slipped right back in and just hoped she’d get the hint and at very least muffle her fucking whining in the mattress. Instead she fell entirely silent. John patted her sides, prompting her to look over her shoulder.

“Something wrong?” husked John.

She looked at him with a puzzled look. “Should I pull your hair like he did?”

John froze. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” muttered the woman. God what the hell was her name. “Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Finish the thought,” demanded John.

“You just,” she turned and spoke mostly into the mattress, “you seemed to like what Roger did and…I don’t know if I can replicate…what exactly it was that you liked. But at very least I can do what he did.”

“What, you think I’m—“

“I didn’t say anything!” snapped the woman quickly. “But I was there when…”

John sighed, deep and tired, and helped her flip back onto her back. He trailed his mouth back up her body, coming to rest at her jaw as he slid back into her. Her breath caught in her throat as she stretched around him. Finally shutting up.

“I was drunk, I am drunk,” laughed John against her jaw. “Don’t read so far into that kiss.”

“You’re sure?” asked the woman, her breath still catching as John moved slow and deep.

“I’m positive. It’s just a game between us, that’s all.”

“You seemed to really enjoy that game,” whispered the woman. John shut her up with a kiss. Because he didn’t have a rebuttal. He didn’t know what to say, she was right. He felt Roger over him, felt his hands attacking his body, felt his breath on his cheek, their lips pressed together, their tongues together, and that one tug of his hair had him moaning for an encore. It was weird and the last thing he wanted to was consider it and all its possible meanings. He just wanted to get off and go to sleep.

 

~~~

 

“Roger!” screamed Freddie. “Roger! Come do Deaky’s eyeliner, he’s pissing me off!”

“I can do it myself—“ began John, trying to hide the grin on his face.

“You cannot! You refuse to do it properly and I cannot be seen on stage with you if you’re going to look—“ began Freddie, a rampage in the makings.

“I’ll do it Fred!” interjected Roger. “Go warm up, I can do it.”

Freddie huffed away, doing his vocal warmups up and down the halls where the acoustics were better and, more importantly, where he wouldn’t break everyone else’s concentration. Roger took Freddie’s seat in front of John and held his chin, moving his head side to side to check the damage of Freddie’s failed attempts.

“Alright, this won’t hurt a bit,” said Roger, uncapping the kohl.

“He kept putting it inside my eye,” muttered John.

Roger rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. Don’t worry, I can fake that.”

John looked in whatever direction Roger told him to, but his focus was always on Roger. He was so fucking close. So close and John knew he must be bright red, but Roger didn’t mention it.

Somehow that was worse. To not be teased. He wanted Roger to treat this like the joke it was. It happened nearly a week ago and Roger hadn’t said a word, nor had he tried to kiss John at any of the after parties for the attention he so craved. John wanted to bring it up but what could he really say. ‘I didn’t mean to moan when you kissed me’? It didn’t exactly sound convincing or incredibly exonerating.

“If you need a break, say so. I’d rather pause than try to line your watery eyes,” said Roger with a quiet laugh.

“Okay, I need a break,” replied John as his eyes welled up. He blinked back the tears, hoping they wouldn’t ruin the progress Roger had already made. Roger watched him intently, a lopsided grin just barely teasing the corner of his mouth.

“Ready?” asked Roger, his voice low. John felt his face flush at least one hundred shades darker red. He awkwardly laughed and nodded and held as still as he could for Roger. “You don’t have to hold your breath, Deaks.”

“Sorry,” said John, letting out a breath he’d been holding much too long.

“Hey listen,” said Roger. John tried to turn to look at him but Roger positioned his face to the side and instructed him to look at the far wall as he delicately drew on the liner. “About the…well…You know what I’m talking about okay. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea?” asked John under his breath.

“When I kiss you at functions like that, Deaks, I don’t mean it anymore than just a kiss. I know I…” Roger’s mark making stopped when he began speaking but he wouldn’t let John turn to meet his gaze yet. “I know I really…don’t hold back, but it’s for the show. For the looks and laughs we get, you know? And I’m sorry if I ever led you to believe it was more than—”

“You didn’t,” said John quickly. “I…didn’t know how I could say it without sounding like I was covering. But it really just slipped out, Rog. Really. I was drunk and it just came out. At the worst moment, in the worst way.”

Roger took John’s chin and turned him to face him, finally. Roger rarely blushed, very very rarely did he blush, but now John could see just the slightest hint of pink in the apples of his cheeks.

“Do you mean it?” said Roger, looking like a kid on Christmas. “It really was just an accident?”

“Y…yes,” said John, a little confused by Roger’s change in tone.

“Oh thank God, Deaks!” Roger wrapped his arms around John and squeezed as tightly as he could. “Oh I was so panicked you had…that you—God it would’ve really fucked the band and—I’m just so glad we’re on the same page!”

“Me too,” said John with an uncomfortable laugh in his throat. He patted Roger’s back a few times, waiting for him to let go.

He apologized when he did and began careful work on John’s other eye. John had no trouble staying perfectly still then. It was a drunken slip of the tongue he knew that. Well he wanted to know that. But it still stung to think this was how Roger would, in theory, react to his, totally non existent and entirely hypothetical, feelings. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand but it hurt. Roger thought, the entire week, that John was pining after him pathetically. And his response was the silent treatment and an awkward rejection a full week later.

“All done,” said Roger.

The show went well but John’s heart wasn’t in it. His head was miles away. Even when he was stood on the drum riser, staring at Roger as they wordlessly mapped the rhythm, he wasn’t there. He was wondering what it was about him that was so repulsive to Roger.

It was silly. Not even silly, it was fucking childish. Especially because he didn’t even want Roger. Probably. Yes he liked his friendship, his companionship, and of course he liked those moments at parties when Roger sought him out to put on a show. But.

But. Maybe.

No. No maybes. Only no’s. Roger was his friend and he’d never be more than his friend and he’d never want anything more than a friendship from him. He was jumbled up and confused and that would fade. In no time he’d be laughing about this ridiculous little crisis he’d worked himself into. John was satisfied with that answer and the last ten minutes of the show he focused hard enough to see a few faces in the crowd.

That comfort left him when he wondered if Freddie ever thought that. If Freddie ever thought it would just fade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapters a big more angsty but the next one resolves a lot of this!! I warned you in the tags that Roger has zero emotional intelligence in this okay!!

John’s goal, his only goal at the after party a few nights later was getting a woman to leave with him. He didn’t care what she looked like, he didn’t want to dance or drink, he didn’t want to celebrate. He wanted to double check and make sure he still liked what a woman could give him.

That was the conclusion he came to after his show spent therapizing himself. That he ought just sleep with anyone he could to remind himself why he didn’t want another man involved in the equation. The first night hadn’t helped. He was too drunk from the after party to deliver on anything past a goodnight kiss. The nights since then Freddie had declared ‘sexless’. Something he occasionally did when he felt the energy was lackluster on stage. According to Freddie, sexual frustration helped with that.

So he found the first girl that smiled at him and led her by the waist to their booth. Brian was there with a woman much taller and blonder than his wife. His eyes raked over John when he pulled the girl onto his lap. Brian had an uncanny ability to judge John for his indiscretions despite the fact that he was exponentially worse, and exponentially more vocal about his own. He ignored Brian’s judgmental glances and focused on the woman squirming in his lap.

“Let’s leave,” whispered John into her neck.

“I’ll tell my friend,” replied the girl.

“Hurry,” said John, heaving her out of his lap.

She threw him a wink as she disappeared into the crowd to find whoever she came in with. John watched her go until he couldn’t make out her silhouette anymore. He grabbed Brian’s drink and killed it. Brian didn’t care, he said a quick goodnight to John as he led the woman he’d been with by the hand towards the exit.

And there he was. Alone in a big private booth with enough drinks in him to be tipsy and clumsy but not enough to be happy. Those niggling thoughts came back in an instant. Part of him wanted to think this was an over-exaggeration. That everyone had thoughts sometimes and that it didn’t change who he was or indicate what his true feelings were. And maybe there was truth to that.

But, God, what if he really did have feelings for him. What if after all this time he’d developed a humiliating school boy crush on one of the three people he was never supposed to. If that really were the case then did that make him…like Freddie? Or was this the exception to the rule? Or was this the first dip into waters he was always meant to be in? God what if Roger found out, he’d be humiliated. He might well be kicked out of the fucking band.

He took another swig of the drink the woman left behind and sank into the velvet of the booth, wondering where the fuck his distraction was. Not but a few minutes alone and he’d convinced himself he was in love with one of his closest friends and had just ended his career.

He would’ve gone to find her, would’ve waited by the door for her maybe, if Roger hadn’t traipsed to the booth with a girl trailing behind. She looked a tired, or uninterested. Which is no doubt why Roger chose her, he hated easy praise. The two of them slid into the booth. Roger acknowledged John with a small wave before turning his full attention to the woman he was with.

John crossed his legs and adjusted anything and everything he could, trying to distract himself. But he caught a few glances of Roger’s tongue on her neck, his teeth on her collarbone, his hand trailing up her thigh. And he shivered at his curiosity, at the desire to know what that felt like.

“You’re making him uncomfortable,” said the woman through a giggle.

Roger resurfaced looking confused for a moment before realizing she’d been talking about John. “Oh he’s not uncomfortable. He and I do this all the time,” laughed Roger with the woman.

“Oh do you?” she teased, almost daring him.

“Of course,” he turned to John, and gave him that look. And John, despite himself, melted. His big blue eyes and his slightly devilish slightly sweet grin. He wanted to please him and he hated to think what that meant.

Roger scooted towards him and delicately tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Let’s give her a good show,” whispered Roger in his ear. John nodded against his cheek in response.

Roger kissed from John’s ear, down his jaw, up his chin, before finally settling on his lips. Lightly at first, but deeper in an instant. As John put on the show Roger promised the woman, he couldn’t help the painful tugging in the pit of his stomach. The fog of the past few weeks lifted. He wasn’t unsure, he wasn’t overreacting. He did have that humiliating crush on Roger and it was going to ruin his friendship and his career, and possibly the band when they found out. And they would. Roger would find out and tell Freddie who would try to minimize it and just make it worse in the process. They’d all try to pretend it was fine or even funny, but months would start to drag and the distance between them would get too big. He’d quit.

“Uh John?” laughed a woman somewhere behind him. John ignored her, eyes screwed tight as he threw himself into every second of Roger. “John can we leave?”

Roger pulled off him quickly and made some incredibly charming apology to John’s girl for taking up his time. Roger made some kind of ‘I told you so’ statement to his girl. John felt completely naked in that moment. Lips still swollen from Roger nipping at them, and while it shook John, Roger was unfazed entirely. Like it was routine.

“John?” repeated his girl. John turned to meet her eyes. If she could see the vulnerability in him, she didn’t say anything.

“‘ave a good night, Deaks!” called Roger as John lead the girl through the crowd.

 

~~~

 

“I can’t tonight,” said John once she was finally undressed and on his bed waiting. Not the best time to tell her.

“What?” said the woman. The tipsy grin leaving her face.

“I can…do whatever you need to get off but I just…I can’t tonight,” sighed John.

“Is it me?” asked the girl. It was a fair question as John had decided not to mention his disinterest until after she stripped for him.

“No,” John shook his head tiredly. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

“Want to talk about it?” asked the girl.

“Not…with you,” said John. It came out much colder than he intended but she didn’t seem offended. She, understandably, wasn’t too keen to have a fully clothed John vacantly eat her out, so she collected her clothes and got them back on. She slipped him her phone number should he ever need it as John walked her to the door.

He kissed her goodnight and watched her walk to the elevator. He stayed in his doorway for another while. Thinking. Wondering what his next move was.

“John?” said a quiet voice somewhere down the hall. John broke from his thoughts and looked up to see Freddie’s head sticking out of his suite down the hall. “Are you alright?”

“Oh—Just fine,” said John, not sounding at all sincere. Freddie didn’t buy it and waved him over. John wondered if whoever Freddie had invited up was already gone as he crossed the hall. He didn’t want to sit in Freddie’s room with a naked stranger. But he went anyway, too afraid of going back to his room alone.

Freddie’s sheets were balled on the floor, used and thrown away already, and there was no naked stranger waiting for him as Freddie closed the door. Freddie made for the minibar. There was an empty champagne bottle by the bed but Freddie and his friend had no doubt already finished it. He tossed John a sample size of whiskey.

“Why’ve you been so pensive the last few days, Deaky?” said Freddie, rummaging through the fridge for his vodka.

“Have I?” John screwed the top off and took a quick swig.

“Go back to your room to play coy,” said Freddie, no hint of a smile on his face.

John’s jaw clenched, but if it was time to be candid he wanted it to be with Freddie. He didn’t get comfortable, he didn’t sit, and neither did Freddie.

“Fred, you slept with a man tonight, right?” said John. Freddie didn’t look angry, but he did look tense, which was just as good in John’s book.

“Why’re you asking that?” spat Freddie, his jaw clenched. John knew he was stepping on toes but he was too drunk to get the words out exactly as he meant them.

“I…was wondering how you knew you wanted to do that,” said John. “I mean you’ve slept with women—you’re still with Mary so…why is it that you couldn’t just keep doing that? How did you know?“

“You know what,” Freddie slammed his little bottle of vodka on the counter, “I don’t need this from you! I don’t need to defend myself and my choices to you! Why don’t you go call your long suffering wife and let her know you got off in another nineteen year old, huh?!”

“Watch it, Fred!” spat John. “And I didn’t mean it that way—”

“I don’t care which fucking way you fucking meant it, Deaky! I knew—I knew you and Brian wouldn’t take it as well as Roger, I _knew_ that, that’s why I never said it—But for you to come to my fucking room and ask me why I can’t just…” Freddie paused, stilled, and his eyes welled. John couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness. He took a step towards him, hoping to give him some kind of comfort. Freddie stopped him after his first step. “Get out.”

“Freddie, you misunderstood—”

“Get the fuck out of my fucking room!” screamed Freddie. “Go, get out!”

Freddie was drunk, John was drunk. Neither were in a place to have the conversation they needed to have. So John muttered a defeated ‘fine’ and headed for the door. He searched his pockets for his key as he came up to the door of his own suite.

“What was that?”

John turned around to see Roger leaning in his doorframe, looking back down the hall at Freddie’s room. “He’s…impossible,” muttered John as he unlocked his door.

“You two fought?” laughed Roger. “I didn’t know he could do anything but praise you.”

“He’s an arse,” said John. Roger went quiet behind him. John didn’t pay him any mind as he shoved his door open.

“Hey—Deaky, what happened?”

“I don’t…” want to talk about it with you, “know really.”

John turned to face him, his palm flat on his door to keep it open. Roger stood for a few moments, head cocked, arms crossed, before muttering something to the girl in his bed as he invited himself into John’s room. He closed the door and locked it.

“Oh Deaky, your bed’s still made. I thought you brought that girl up,” teased Roger.

John said nothing. He sat on the end of the bed and took another big gulp of the whiskey in his hand.

“You alright?” asked Roger. John said nothing. “What did you and Fred fight about?”

“He…” John shook his head. “Rog, did Freddie tell you about him. About…his…”

“Being gay?” said Roger. His body tensed the same way that Freddie’s did. “It’s not like you didn’t already know though. He’s not incredibly discreet about it. Frankly, Deaks, I didn’t pin you for a bigot—”

“God—God, can you both just listen to me for one fucking second?! I know he’s gay and it’s fine I don’t give a shit why’s everyone assuming I’m some judgmental piece of shit without letting me get a word in edgewise!” screamed John. Roger held up his hands in surrender. “I was talking to him, and…it came up. I guess something came out wrong because he got very upset and wouldn’t let me explain…”

“What were you talking about that led to that?”

John shrugged. “Don’t remember, nothing important.”

“Well…” Roger sighed, “it’s a touchy subject for him, right now at least. He’s always been worried about how you and Brian would react, how everyone would react.”

“He wasn’t worried about you,” spat John.

“A story for another time,” said Roger. “Don’t take it personally, Deaks. He’s coked out and drunk and on a runner’s high from the marathon sex he just finished. He’ll calm down by tomorrow I’m sure of it.”

“If you say so,” said John.

Roger flicked on the TV. “I know so.” He sat next to John at the foot of the bed.

“There’s nothing on,” said John, “It’s 3am.”

“I’m just making sure,” muttered Roger as the static filled the room. They stared at it for a few moments in silence, both tipsy and both a little bit mesmerized by the patterns.

John could feel the heat from Roger’s body radiating off of him. He wanted to move closer, wanted to do something that would get Roger’s calloused hands all over him.

“Can I?” asked Roger, his eyes turning from the TV static to John.

“What?” breathed John. His heart pounding out of his chest as he waited for Roger to do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed to him.

“The whiskey?” said Roger, coaxing the bottle from John’s hand. He took a swig, not waiting for permission and laughing a bit at John’s dazed face.

“Oh…” laughed John.

“What ‘oh’?” said Roger.

“I thought…I don’t know what I thought,” said John.

Roger giggled. “Did you think I was gonna kiss you again, Deaks?”

John blushed and tried to laugh. “I don’t know!”

Roger, grinning, cupped both of John’s cheeks and pressed a comically loud kiss to his lips. He pulled away with a cheesy smile, but kept his hands on John’s face. Kept his eyes locked on John’s as his thumb trace the apple of his cheek. John knew he was bright red, knew his skin must be hot to the touch. But he didn’t care when Roger was looking at him.

He’d blame it on the whiskey if it went all wrong.

He leaned forward, hesitating for a moment before he pressed their lips together. Softly at first. Waiting for Roger to shove him away. When he didn’t, John went in deeper, a bit rougher, the way Roger would do to him at parties. Roger kissed back for a moment, for one brief moment he was just as frenzied as John. But when that moment was over Roger shoved him with all the force in his body. John tumbled off the edge of the bed and slammed against the far wall.

Roger didn’t say anything. He stared down at John on the floor and looked ready to kill him but he said nothing. He took a step towards John. John winced and waited for a kick to land squarely in his ribs. But it never did. When he looked up Roger was still there, frozen. He groaned, an angry tired groan.

“Goddamn it, John,” spat Roger. John stared up at him blankly but he said nothing more. He stomped out of the room and slammed the door hard enough for the hinges to rattle.

John didn’t move from his position on the floor. He stared at the ceiling, wondering why he’d done that, wondering why he’d just cost himself his job and his friendship. The ceiling spun from the whiskey and eventually lulled him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a bit longer but you know life haha! I made up for it in length I think! Comment if you like it I love hearing what yall think!!

“Deaky, I’m coming in so cover up whoever’s in there!” screamed Brian.

John cracked his eyes open and saw the sun streaming in through the window. He never bothered to close the curtains. Why hadn’t the sun woke him up? Why hadn’t the banging on the door woke him up? Brian counted down from three before opening the door with the spare key.

“Deaky wake—“ Brian stopped in his tracks when he saw John. Still there, lying on the floor in the same place Roger pushed him the night before. “John? Are you alright?”

“Never better,” said John. He sat up and every joint cracked as he did.

“What’re you doing sleeping on the floor?”

“It’s good for your back,” replied John.

“Okay…if you say so. Uh—cars leave for the airport in forty five minutes,” said Brian. John could feel his eyes on his back as he puttered around the room throwing the few things he took out of his suitcase right back in. “You sick or something?”

John turned to him with a fake laugh prepared. “Bri, really, I’m fine.”

“Well…don’t sleep on the floor anymore, it’s strange,” said Brian with an uncomfortable grin.

John might’ve been able to convince Brian everything was fine had Roger and Freddie not been obviously ignoring him the entire day. But, to Brian’s credit, he said nothing about it. Brian was often the first to get involved in a band spat, right after Roger, so John really appreciated how he didn’t pry this time.

 

~~~

 

Four? No, five, days later, they landed at their next destination. John couldn’t remember what that was and he didn’t care enough to ask anymore. He was getting used to the silent treatment backstage, and the disinterest at the after parties. He was waiting for Freddie to cool off so he could apologize. At the moment, Freddie refused to speak to him in any capacity. Once he got that done with, he’d ride out the rest of the tour then resign as soon as they touched down in London. That was the plan anyway.

John stared at himself in the mirror of their shared dressing room. His white robe smeared with foundation and eyeshadows from Brian next to him who used his robe like a towel. John smirked every time he did it because he knew it was out of love, and knew that a small gesture like that was the only love he’d get from any of them at this point.

He uncapped the kohl and started trying to get a perfect rim and wing around his eyes, the way Freddie and Roger could do so effortlessly. He tended to skip it unless Freddie requested it but everyone was glammed up that night, even Roger. He’d stick out too much if he didn’t try.

“Too thick,” said Brian absentmindedly as he watched John.

“I know…It’s…fiddly,” replied John.

“I’d do it but it’s hard on another person,” said Brian, genuinely apologetic.

“Thanks.”

“Fred! Can you do John’s eyes?” said Brian to his own reflection, not looking around to gauge Freddie’s reaction.

“He’s a big boy,” replied Freddie. John, through the mirror, watched him flip mindlessly through a magazine. “He cries whenever I do it anyway.”

“Grow up, Fred,” grumbled Brian. He didn’t know why they were feuding, he knew better than to ask, but Brian was just as fed up as everyone else.

For some reason that struck a chord with Freddie who sighed and put down the magazine. He slinked over to the mirror and sat in front of John, looking at the progress he’d made so far.

“Oh, Darling…Someone really must teach you how to do this one day,” said Freddie as he fought a grin.

John looked down and away as instructed as Freddie expertly applied the eyeliner. Brian, very discreetly, asked Roger to join him in the hall for a cigarette. Freddie rolled his eyes when he saw them leave, knowing Brian was trying to force a reconciliation.

“I don’t want to hear your apology,” said Freddie once the door closed.

“Fred, I need to explain,” said John, a crack in his voice. A crack audible enough for Freddie to flash a quick look of concern.

“Okay…okay, you can have one minute,” said Freddie.

“What I said—It came out all wrong. All wrong. I wasn’t asking why you couldn’t just go back to women, I was asking how you knew you couldn’t do that—“

“John, I’m not going to just ‘buckle down’ and try to love a woman—“

“That’s not what I’m asking,” said John a little frantic. No matter what he said it sounded so horrible. He just had to pour it all out at once and hope Freddie understood. “I wanted to know how you knew it was something you wanted.”

“I just did. The same way you know you like women, albeit with a bit more fear.” Freddie’s tone was gentle but John could tell he was fed up already.

“That’s the thing,” said John, lowering his voice to ensure Roger and Brian, or for that matter any roadies, didn’t hear. “I don’t know how…how sure I am.”

“About?” said Freddie, lost entirely.

“I don’t know about…I just…Look. I don’t know if I want to try it on with a guy, I’m all jumbled up right now Fred and I thought you’d…know what to say,” said John. His eyes welled at the slight relief he felt from sharing the weight of his troubles. “God—Sorry sorry. The liner’s gonna smudge again.”

Freddie said nothing but dabbed a tissue under John’s eyes and quietly reformed the liner for him. “Deaky, I had no idea—I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault. At all. The way I phrased it…It was all wrong,” said John.

“I should’ve known—I should’ve listened to you. I know you’re not capable of that kind of maliciousness, I’m sorry I assumed.”

“You’re on your guard about it, I know that, I should never have just started saying all those things while we were drunk. And you were high.”

“So we agree. We’re both forgiven.” Freddie smiled a brilliant, toothy grin that John hadn’t seen all week. John grinned back just as brightly and Freddie once again had to fix his liner. He held very still as Freddie perfected a wing.

“About the…the feelings,” began John awkwardly.

“Ah ah ah,” tutted Freddie. “This is neither the time nor the place for that conversation. We can have it after the show. Put it out of your mind for the next few hours, darling.” Freddie looked over his shoulder at the door to their dressing room and called, “Boys! You can come back in, we’ve made up!”

Brian burst in first. “Fucking finally.”

“Five minutes ’til we’re on, get dressed,” spat Roger to no one in particular.

 

~~~

 

John left the party early that night. Alone this time as he padded down the hall to Freddie’s room. He knocked once and Freddie screamed ‘it’s open’ from somewhere deep inside. John opened the door to find the room empty. He shut the door and called for Freddie.

“I’m such a fucking piece of shit,” wobbled a voice against the bathroom tiles. John, more intrigued than ever opened the bathroom door to find Brian hunched over the bathtub, sobbing as Freddie rubbed his back.

“You’re not a piece of shit,” sighed Freddie.

Brian dry heaved into the tub as another wave of tears hit him. “I am I am!” screamed Brian at the top of his lungs. “I’m the worst husband, an even shitter father! I can’t, I can’t even play guitar I’ve been lying, I’m self taught!”

Freddie looked up at John and just rolled his eyes. “He drunkenly called Chrissie while inside of some twenty year old,” sighed Freddie.

“Oh…God. What did she say?” asked John.

“She,” Brian dry heaved again. “She said nothing! She just hung up! She’s everything to me and this is?!”

“This is what, Brian?” prompted Freddie.

Brian responded by crying harder into the bathtub. Freddie rolled his eyes and continued to rub his back. It was difficult to feel bad for him when he got like this. Seeing him sob like this was hard but, as harsh as it sounded, it was his own fault. No one asked him to cheat, and no one asked to him to call his wife during one of his many affairs. So Freddie did rub his back, but offered no words of comfort about how he was an amazing husband.

Eventually the crying stopped when Brian fell asleep against the tub.

“Should we lie him down?” asked John.

“No, if he gets sick again I want him to survive it,” said Freddie tiredly.

“Why the bathtub? Why isn’t he crying into the toilet like a normal drunk?”

“He thinks that’s the toilet.” John might’ve laughed it wouldn’t have woken Brian. Freddie stood and stretched his back. “Anyway, let’s have our little chat, hey?”

He was nervous, sure. But he was also excited almost. Excited to have an answer about himself. Decidedly not excited for what that answer might be. Freddie led them out of the bathroom and patted the bed for John to sit next to him.

“So, dearest Deaky, what’s got you so highly strung?” said Freddie, sitting crosslegged on the bed.

“It’s…Well…I’m…” He started about five other sentences after that one and none of them led anywhere. Eventually Freddie put a finger to his lips.

“You said you were having feelings. That were confusing you. What are those feelings,” said Freddie. He always knew just what John needed.

“They’re the standard,” said John. “What I usually want from a woman but with…not a woman. And…I know I can’t do anything about it so I can’t even…make sure this isn’t just normal curiosity—“

“Pause, pause,” said Freddie miming a time out. “Why can’t you do anything about it? There’s nothing wrong with experimenting to make sure. And there are plenty of men out there waiting for another one of us to turn.”

“I don’t want to just go and get off with a random bloke at our parties,” spat John. “Not…that that’s bad,” he added.

“Apology accepted,” muttered Freddie. “But Deaky, if you’re not keen to act on these thoughts, why are you panicking? Not wanting to put fantasy into practice is a sign you don’t actually want it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to put them into practice I just…” began John.

“You just what?” said Freddie. He leaned in closer.

“Freddie, you’re sworn to secrecy,” said John.

“Ooh! Finally, the real confession,” said Freddie, then more seriously, “I won’t tell a soul.”

“All these thoughts are about Roger.”

“That makes sense,” said Freddie quickly.

“It does?!” replied John a bit too loudly. They both held their breath, waiting for Brian to start moaning again.

“The two of you are glued at the lips at all our parties,” laughed Freddie. “Kissing anyone night after night with that kind of fervor that Roger has…It’s not surprising that you’re having other thoughts about him.”

“Do you think that’s what it is? Just a weird situation?” said John. “I can’t tell if I really want these things from him, I think…I think I do but I can’t be sure. And I sure as hell can’t talk to him about it so I have no way to work it out.”

Freddie scoffed. “Why can’t you talk to him?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

Freddie scooted closer. “He didn’t.”

“After our ‘fight’…he came to my room. I told him it was a misunderstanding and he said you’d understand—“

“And I did.”

“And you did…and then he sat down, turned on the TV like he was going to stay. And I…kissed him. He threw me off the bed and stormed out. Hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Oh…Deaky…” sighed Freddie. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my own fucking fault,” said John under his breath.

“It’s not!” Freddie took John’s tear-stained cheeks into his hands. “John Deacon, it’s not your fault. Roger should know better than to treat someone like this. Oh you poor thing.”

Freddie wrapped his arms around him, tight. John’s face buried in his neck. He hated crying. And he really hated crying in front of people, but for right then he was just fine sobbing into Freddie’s collar.

“Please don’t fire me,” muttered John.

“Fire you?” said Freddie with a light laugh.

“Roger’s harder to replace and if he won’t talk to me…” John’s thought went unfinished and Freddie remained silent for a few tense beats.

“It’s not bad enough, we can work this out.” Freddie squeezed tighter still. “And I’d rather die than let you leave this fucking band.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize again. This is ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re feeling, you don’t know how to figure it out and you innocently enough try to understand it and Roger…does that. I could kill him, Deaky, I really could. He knows better.”

John pulled away, Freddie wiped his eyes for him. “I don’t know Fred…A month or so ago…We were at a party and we kissed for his date as per usual. And I got a little caught up in the moment, I moaned and…It was humiliating. And a week after that he apologized for leading me on, I told him it was a drunken slip up…But I should’ve told him then. I should’ve said then that I was getting confused and that we shouldn’t be so close—“

“That’s not for him to know. That’s your own business. You didn’t want to tell him then so you didn’t.”

“But if I just told him then…Even not knowing what’s going on…it…” John’s thought trailed off.

“John. Stop it. How were you supposed to know Roger would react like that to a kiss when he spends half of our parties doing the same?”

“Because there was no audience in my bedroom, Freddie. He does it for an audience, not for me or himself, he does it for attention and there was no one in my room to give him attention.”

“I’m not saying he had to like being kissed. But he’s kissed you too many times to have the right to shove you to the ground like that when you do it back. That’s not a normal reaction. He’s your friend.”

John didn’t agree. He had ample time to warn Roger of how mixed up he was getting and he never did. Roger had every right to be disgusted and upset when John kissed him. But he dropped it because Freddie was just as stubborn as him, neither would ever change their mind.

“So…” John sighed and cracked his knuckles, an old nervous habit. “So do you think…I’m…”

“Gay?” laughed Freddie.

“Or…bisexual,” offered John.

“This may sound strange coming from me, the reigning champion of repression up until recently, but there is a chance you’ve just got yourself in a tizzy,” said Freddie. He fiddled with John’s long hair absently.

“You think?”

“It’s you. You overthink everything. But think about it, Deaky. You’ve not had feelings for any other men. There’s a reason the only man you’re thinking about is the same one who sticks his tongue down your throat whenever possible.”

“You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?” said John tentatively.

Freddie shook his head. “If you do like men, if this is the first of many, I’ll be here waiting for gory details. But, honestly, Deaky, talk to Rog before you start filing for divorce alright?”

“How can I? He hasn’t spoken to me all week.”

“Oh he’ll get over it,” said Freddie with an eye roll. “God we’re all so melodramatic tonight. First Brian comes in here crying, and then you. I’m sure Roger will be by soon to cry about his hair dye or something.”

John choked on a laugh. Freddie pressed their shoulders together and they sat there for a moment in silence. Relative silence anyway. Brian had woken up in the bathroom and was successfully throwing up in the bath it sounded like.

“Great,” sighed Freddie.

“Thanks, Fred. It means a lot,” said John.

“Anytime,” Freddie kissed his cheek.

 

~~~

 

A week passed. There was only a month left on the tour. Roger was definitely stubborn enough that he’d go another month without speaking to John. The most contact they had was when John hopped up on the risers to make sure the two of them were in sync. That was the only time John could get him to look in his eyes.

John had a newfound calmness around him though. Ever since Freddie, the expert, suggested it was just a case of John’s anxious brain working him up rather than actual feelings for Roger, he found it easier to be around him. If Freddie of all people thought this was all a big communication breakdown between John’s brain and heart, then that’s probably what it was. Even so, working up the courage to explain all that to Roger was not something he thought he could do.

John thought about bringing one of the girls back with him that night. It’d been a few weeks since his last attempt. And he was finally really feeling up to it this time. Finally comfortable in his own skin again.

He danced with a woman that looked like ready to leave with him right then. He bought her a drink and sat with her at the booth and let her narrowly avoiding marking up his whole neck. John would’ve offered her a ride back to their hotel had he not spotted Roger across the dance-floor, eyes locked onto his.

Roger was drunk, they both were, but the expression on his face was clear. It was the big pouty eyes and lopsided grin of a Roger that was about to kiss him. John almost didn’t recognize it, he hadn’t seen that look on his face in weeks.

Roger whispered something to the two women on either side of him before meandering over to John’s booth.

“Rog,” muttered John when Roger climbed into the booth and wrapped an arm around John. During the show, mere hours prior, he hadn’t dared to look at John and now he had his arm around him.

“Go on, Rog, do it!” cheered one of the women Roger brought over.

“This okay?” whispered Roger.

John wasn’t sure if it was okay. But he nodded anyway. Roger’s hand splayed across his neck as he pressed his lips to John’s. There was that familiar roughness and eagerness to put on the best show he could. His tongue dragging along John’s in the best way possible, his other hand trailing down his chest before slipping in his jacket to rest on John’s hip.

God what he wouldn’t give to be alone somewhere doing this. But he’d take what he could get. When one of the girls whistled, John trailed a hand up Roger’s chest and rested it just below his collar bone. The other rested on his waist. He didn’t know what was too much, didn’t know what the girls wanted, didn’t know what he wanted.

Roger pulled away. Slower than he usually did. He pressed one last chaste kiss to John’s swollen lips.

“Don’t take that girl home,” whispered Roger in John’s ear. John muttered a ‘what’ but got no response before both of the girls dragged Roger away.

“Did he just tell you not to take me home?” said the girl next to John.

“You heard it too?” said John.

She sighed and scooted out of the booth. “The band’s fuckin’ named ‘Queen’ and I didn’t know they’d all be…” muttered the woman to herself.

John didn’t bother following her. He was too dazed and distracted. Roger’s silent treatment ended finally and he was glad of that but…that felt like a strange way to end it. He knew was too confused to really have any more fun. He downed the last of his drink and drunkenly stumbled outside where one of their managers ushered him into a car and sent him back to the hotel.

He was tempted to break his door down when his tipsy hands struggled with the key.

“Let me help.”

John looked up from his lock to see Roger stumbling towards him.

“When did you get here? Where are the girls?” said John.

“Got in a car trying to catch you leaving,” said Roger. “Guess the girls couldn’t keep up.”

John choked on a drunken laugh that was too generous. He was just so glad to hear Roger speaking to him again. Roger took the key from John and shoved it into the lock, turning and turning and doing the same motions as John. Except this time they worked and the door swung open.

“How’d you do that?” mumbled John.

“No idea,” replied Roger.

“Hey, why’d you tell me not to bring the girl back?” asked John, one foot in his room the other in the hall.

“Oh that…” said Roger. “Can I come in?”

John didn’t think twice about opening the door all the way to let Roger pass. Roger walked in and caught John’s wrist on the way, pulling him into the room and letting the door slam behind them.

Roger was an inch shorter than him but he felt taller when he turned and stared at John. Eyes big, wide, and blue. John stared back. Roger put a hand on his cheek, his thumb brushed across his skin. He leaned in. Slow. Very slow. As if he was waiting for John to stop him. But John never did.

The kiss was softer, gentler than Roger had ever given him. He pulled back, his blue eyes darting between Johns in a panic. “Okay?”

John nodded and pulled him in again. The drunken roughness John was used to came out in Roger. He had John’s jacket off and thrown across the room, his shirt rucked up to his ribs, before John even registered his hands wandering his body.

Roger, with practiced ease, guided John to the bed and climbed on top of him when he fell back into the mattress. He left John’s mouth to mark up his neck. John’s breath hitched as he stared at the ceiling. It was spinning so fast he got dizzy looking.

“Roger,” said John too quietly, he barely heard himself and Roger didn’t hear him at all. He sat up briefly to tear his jacket off and throw it at a lamp. John watched the lamp fall under the weight of Roger’s leather and knew he heard the bulb inside shatter. The buttons of his shirt were too tedious, Roger just tugged it off, something he’d obviously made a habit of doing.

“Let’s get this off,” grumbled Roger in reference to John’s belt.

“Wait—wait!” John grabbed the belt Roger was so eager to tear from him. Roger stilled, his big eyes getting just a bit bigger.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re drunk,” replied John.

“So are you,” said Roger.

“I don’t want this to happen drunk,” said John.

“Oh…” sighed Roger. He sat for a still moment on John’s thighs. Looking at John, or rather, right through him. John stared back blankly, his head still swimming. Eventually Roger climbed off of John’s lap and laid next to him.

They were silent. John stared up at the spinning ceiling and tried to organize the thoughts and emotions and desires that were left tangled in his head. But he was distracted when Roger pressed a kiss to his jaw. He was drunk, and trying to sort this out, to explore it, drunk was a bad idea. He knew that. He knew that. But he was drunk.

John turned his head to meet Roger’s lips, which welcomed him gladly. John clumsily turned onto his side, pinning his body against Roger’s. Roger, gently, slowly, tentatively slipped his leg between John’s. John moaned into Roger’s mouth which encouraged him to get closer.

The sloppy drunken rutting John was doing against Roger’s thigh got more desperate. Roger’s hands left the small of John’s back and moved back around to his belt.

“Can I?” whispered Roger into his mouth.

“Yes—hurry up,” replied John. Roger grinned and unbuckled John’s belt, unbuttoned his trousers, unzipped them. And then stopped. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” said Roger.

“Do you not want to?” asked John. He met Roger’s eyes which looked just as scared and uncertain as John felt.

“I do I just…don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” whispered Roger, sounding more vulnerable than John thought he could be.

“Here,” whispered John. He unbuckled Roger’s belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and unzipped. “We can both be bad at it.”

Roger smiled wider than John had seen all month and peppered kisses all over his jaw. While he did that his hand reached between them and rested on John’s thigh. John thought he ought to do the same. He went first, his hand dipping in Roger’s waistband. Roger’s eyes closed at the first few brushed of John’s hand. John stilled and watched Roger’s eyes slowly open again. And he kept his eyes on him as Roger’s hand moved from his thigh to his hip, and slowly down to his cock. His touch was light and nervous but eager all the same. John pulled him out with one tentative stroke that made Roger’s breathing shudder. In a frenzy, Roger attacked his lips again and started twisting his wrist up and down John’s cock.

John didn’t know if he was as good Roger, Roger kept cutting off his own moans which gave John no indication of if he liked it or not. But Roger was doing just fine and John made no effort to fight his own moans. John desperately didn’t want to finish first. But Roger was using his right hand and John really couldn’t compete with that. John slurred something about being close against Roger’s cheek. Roger responded by speeding up. John clawed his bicep while Roger stroked him through it.

“Now you,” muttered John. Roger watched him while he did it. John didn’t know if he liked being watched so intently but he loved seeing the expressions that flashed across Roger’s face. It was no secret that Roger was gorgeous but seeing him like this really proved it. He moved closer every so often, the look on his face getting more pained, more desperate. A free hand held John’s thigh tight.

“Deaky—Deaky—John, faster,” whimpered Roger seconds before adding to the mess between them. His eyes were shut tight when he came and fluttered open slowly as he came down. And they were locked on John. He lurched forward and sloppily kissed him with all the energy left in his body.

“Deaky,” cried Roger over and over between kisses. John never heard the end of his praise though. He fell asleep somewhere in the ether of Roger.

 

~~~

 

“Wake up, Deaks!” called Brian on the other side of the door. “I swear you could sleep through a stampede!”

“I’m up!” croaked John in a panic. The last thing he wanted was for Brian to let himself in again.

“Get dressed!” replied Brian. “Even Freddie’s worried we won’t make this flight!”

John opened his eyes and blinked away the blurriness, hoping to get his bearings. The ceiling stopped spinning, that was good. Roger was still next to him, that was probably good too. He was nuzzled against John’s shoulder, his arm stretched across John’s waist.

“Rog,” said John’s sleep-weary voice. “Rog, wake up.”

Roger whined in protest. John shook him. John could tell when he was truly awake because any part of him that was touching John was yanked away violently.

“What time is it?” said Roger as he picked up the alarm clock and checked the time.

“It’s 10,” replied John.

“Okay…” Roger ran his hands through his hair. “Okay.”

“We’ve got plenty of time before the flight,” said John. He knew that wasn’t why Roger looked like he was on the brink of a heart attack but he wanted to give him an out.

“Yeah,” muttered Roger. He laid there, propped up on his elbows, staring at nothing. Nothing profound came to John’s mind, nothing he could think of to break the tension.

Finally Roger looked at him. He turned his head with the speed of a spooked animal, his pupils enormous when they met John’s. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” said John quickly.

With that Roger collected the clothes he’d thrown off the night before and let himself out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, finals and all that. Thank you for the wonderful comments they really keep me going! I know this chapter is really angsty but I promise the next one will make it worth it!

He couldn’t take the silent treatment. Not again. Not for a third time on the same fucking tour. He just couldn’t do it. His own feelings be damned. He watched Roger sprint his way out of the bedroom the morning before and hadn’t spoken to him since. Knowing Roger, that silence would continue indefinitely.

John didn’t want to talk about it either, John didn’t want to think about it or acknowledge it either. But he didn’t want their fucking friendship to end over it. It felt infinitely more painful to have Roger slowly distance himself than it did to fight him and risk losing him in the process.

But what would he say? His own thoughts on what happened, on how he felt about it, were foggy. He knew he liked it, and he knew he wouldn’t say no to a repeat performance. But he couldn’t yet know if it was because it was Roger or because it felt good. Like Freddie said, the situation was unusual and his unreadable feelings reflected that.

Roger beat heavy and hard on his toms during soundcheck. It wasn’t unusual for him to do so, in fact it’d be more unusual if he weren’t trying to break through the head. But he didn’t hit them with excited enthusiasm, no when John turned to sync their rhythms up he was hitting the toms with what John could only assume was anger. And there was no give and take between them. Roger wouldn’t look up from his kit. In that silence told John to follow him rather than their usual back and forth.

Once Freddie called time on soundcheck, John rushed the drum risers and caught Roger before he snuck away.

“I need to talk to you,” said John, reaching a hand for Roger’s sleeve to keep him from fleeing.

Roger checked over his shoulder at the roadies watching them idly, waiting for their chance to dissemble the drum kit. An uncomfortable grin broke on Roger’s face.

“I need to talk to you too…” said Roger. His face was unreadable, which wasn’t a word John had ever used to describe Roger before. All of his emotions were always on his sleeve but right then John could only guess. And it felt like rejection and pity and discomfort.

“Well, I need to talk to you first,” replied John.

“Here?” said Roger.

“Let’s find somewhere…” said John. John led the way to the backstage area where their dressing rooms were. Although at the moment they weren’t dressing rooms so much as blank canvases to be painted according to Freddie’s desires in a few hours. John closed the door to the bare room they found themselves in and turned to see Roger gravitated to a mirror, primping and fiddling with his hair. “Rog.”

“Yes?” Roger didn’t look away from his reflection.

“Please look at me,” sighed John.

Roger took his sweet time turning to face him and when he did there was a subtle blush creeping into his cheeks. A rare sight that he’d now seen twice in his life.

“About the other night…” began John.

“Yes?” said Roger as he took a step towards him.

“It was nothing,” said John. “We were drunk, we were all worked up and—I know you’re…uncomfortable with it. I get why too. But, look, I talked to Freddie a bit ago, he said we’re…or at least I’m just getting worked up because all that snogging we do is a little confusing sometimes.”

“You talked to Freddie?” said Roger.

“I—I had to, Rog. You weren’t talking to me. Last I’d seen you, you’d thrown me into a wall,” said John with an uncomfortable laugh. Roger’s face fell at the memory of shoving John to the ground. There was some comfort in the remorse that read so clearly on his face. “It’s not like he can’t keep a secret.”

“I’m not…I don’t care that he knows…but I don’t…” Roger started pacing. Small steps but each riddled with anxiety. “Why would Freddie of all people say you don’t actually have feelings you’re just confused? That doesn’t…”

“If Brian would’ve said it, I wouldn’t have trusted it. It’s because Freddie said it that I’m sure it’s true. If he of all people is so sure this is nothing, then it’s nothing! I don’t want you to worry that I’ve got feelings, Rog, I don’t.”

Roger stopped pacing and turned to face him, hand firmly on his hips, eyes darting around wildly.

“No feelings at all?” said Roger.

“Friendship,” assured John. “I’m tired—very tired, of us not speaking. We were drunk, I was all turned around, it wasn’t a big deal. We don’t have to make it a big deal. We can laugh about it.”

Roger stared at the floor for a few beats. He used the sole of shoe to kick at the space between two floorboards.

“Roger?” said John. “Please, can we be friends again.”

“Yeah,” muttered Roger. “Sure, whatever.”

John took a step towards him, hoping to hug or at least catch his eyes again. But Roger took a step back. And an anger John hadn’t previously felt flooded his body.

“Fuck you!” spat John. “ _You_ started it that night! _I_ wanted to stop, _I_ said we were too drunk! You don’t get to blame this whole horrible mess on me!”

“I never said I was!” screamed Roger. “And don’t make it out like I forced you either, this was an even split!”

“So why are you mad at me?! Why won’t you talk to me?” said John. Roger avoided his gaze and bit the inside of his cheek. He was either about to open up or looking for something to throw. John hoped for the former. “Please, Roger.”

“Fuck this,” muttered Roger. He never once looked at John as he pushed himself past him and out the door. John knew better than to follow.

 

~~~

 

“I thought you two made up?” said Freddie into his drink. John wished he could tell Freddie the whole story and have him weigh in. But every time he tried, he stopped short of the gory details. “Didn’t he kiss you a few nights ago for the girls?”

“I guess he was just drunk,” replied John. The party around them wasn’t one of their wildest, it slowed down around one in the morning and had John wondering why he ever bothered coming. Roger had four women around him all night, as if he’d have any idea what to do in a heap of four women. John didn’t want to think about why it bothered him so much though, so he stopped looking.

“He’s always drunk, that doesn’t mean his actions don’t mean anything. If he kissed you it was because he moved past your little…wobble,” said Freddie.

“I don’t know. I think he’s done a lot of things he wishes he didn’t while drunk,” said John, one specific instance in mind.

“Haven’t we all,” laughed Freddie as he downed the rest of his drink with a flourish. “Goodnight, Deaky. This little gathering has grown rather tiresome.”

“I’ll go back with you,” said John catching one last masochistic glance at Roger and his harem.

The car ride was silent. John’s head was swimming and screaming. He was losing Roger, one of his closest friends, and nothing he did seemed to stop it. Nothing he said made it better. If they grew any more distant it would be obvious to the others. They’d have a band meeting about it and after they’d all aired their dirty laundry John would be left humiliated and on unstable at best footing with the band.

“Deaky, if you don’t tell me the whole story soon I’ll have to ask Roger,” said Freddie. His voice breaking the silence cleanly and quietly. “And I know you don’t want me to ask Roger.”

“I did tell you the whole—”

“If you’re going to play like that, I won’t humour you,” said Freddie. “If you’re not ready to talk that’s fine but don’t pretend you aren’t hiding something.”

“Do we have to do this here? In the car?” said John.

Freddie grinned and shook his head. Once at the hotel, they meandered quietly up to their floor and Freddie ushered him into his room. He told John to make himself comfortable so John awkwardly sat at the end of Freddie’s bed while Freddie stripped and put on the complimentary robe. He flung himself on the bed and told John to toss him the mixed nuts from the minibar.

John slipped his shoes off and turned to face Freddie. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and watched Freddie fuss with the vacuum seal on the nuts. Even when he wasn’t trying, Freddie put him at ease.

“Alright Darling, I’m all ears and teeth,” laughed Freddie.

“Well…I’ve told you just about everything.”

“Yes you told me you tried to kiss him, and you told me he kissed you again at a party. Which would indicate that he’s no longer angry. What did you leave out?” Freddie peeled back the seal on the nuts and ate them four at a time.

“I…” began John, his heart threatening to either power off or jump out of his throat. “The night he kissed me at the party…Later, he met me at my room. I thought he might want to talk so I let him in but he kissed me.”

A cashew fell from Freddie’s hand. He looked puzzled more than surprised though.

“And he wanted to…” John waved vaguely indicating what he meant. “But I thought were were too drunk so he got off me and then…we didn’t stop. We didn’t have…actual…”

“Sex?” prompted Freddie.

“Yeah,” laughed John. Why had it been so hard for him to say. “But we uh…got each other off.”

“Hands? Mouth? …Feet?” added Freddie with a grin.

“Shut up,” groaned John trying not to laugh. “Hands, just hands.”

“How did he seem during?”

“Excited. Enthusiastic. I was drunk but…when he finished I started to drift off and he just kept kissing me and moaning my name,” said John going pink at the memory.

“Hmm.” Freddie looked pensive more than anything. John was glad someone else was doing the math on this one because he just couldn’t anymore. “And now he’s not talking to you again?”

“Well the morning after he was…uneasy. And earlier, after soundcheck I tried to talk to him, I told him it was a mistake. I promised him I had no feelings for him and that we’d just had too much. But he wasn’t having it, he got more angry and stormed off.”

“It’s not like you forced him to come to your room and seduce you why’s he…” began Freddie, thoughts trailing off.

“He wouldn’t say.”

Freddie kept thinking, John watched. Hoping that whatever came out of his mouth next was profound, wise, and helpful. Often, when it came to Freddie, it was. But this one seemed tough even for him.

“I guess…he’s just bruised,” said Freddie. “Roger’s masculinity hasn’t always been his strong suit. Once we moved in together he stopped being so concerned with it but maybe this’s shaken him. I’ll bet he’s panicking thinking this means more than it does.”

“You think?”

“It’s Roger. When has he ever had a proportional response to something?”

John grinned and nodded. That sounded right. It also sounded like something he couldn’t help Roger with. Like something that if Roger didn’t decide to fix for himself, would never get fixed. Like something that could ruin and end their friendship.

“So you’re sure?”

“Hm?” said John, leaving his own head and rejoining Freddie in the room.

“You’re sure you don’t feel anything?”

“Yes,” lied John. “You were right, I just…got confused.”

“You’d tell me if you did?”

“Of course,” lied John.

“Because there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. I’m not ashamed. I’m just interested in Roger. Not like that anyway. But I’ll never convince him, he’s already ended our friendship practically,” sighed John.

“No he hasn’t,” said Freddie with a scoff. “He’s anxious yes, but he’ll get over it, he always does. Give him a few more days.”

“If you say so,” said John, no hope in his voice.

 

~~~

 

Freddie was wrong. Days came and went and Roger was still cold to him. And getting progressively colder. He first wouldn’t speak to John, then he stopped looking at him, he started throwing the rhythm off on purpose during soundcheck, he wouldn’t linger in the dressing room with the three of them.

Freddie promised he wouldn’t tell a soul what John had told him, but John gave him permission to fill in some of the blanks for Brian who couldn’t remain totally in the dark any longer.

Brian knew they kissed, and Brian knew Roger hated John for it. And Brian knew that they’d taken it a little further on accident but according to Freddie he asked not to be told those details. He said it was to respect everyone’s privacy but John had a feeling the idea of his friends doing anything in that realm made him queasy.

But at least no one asked about it. John couldn’t handle the silent treatment and explanations to his friends, to the roadies, to the managers. He just wanted to end the tour and forget he’d ever been a fucking bassist.

He didn’t have the libido to last the duration of the afterparty. Roger had hoards of women draped all over him the last week and half. Freddie said it was to prove his manhood. But something in John felt that it was to send him a message. Something in John was sure that Roger had figured out John’s feelings for him and was using the women half to have a good time and half to remind John that he’d never swing that way again.

He was three drinks in and looking for a way out of the party. Just leaving felt rude at this point since he’d done it four nights in a row. Freddie stopped letting him skip the functions altogether which was his weapon of choice. Instead he was tucked in a corner of the club, drink in his hand, cigarette in his mouth, and pain in his heart.

“You’ve got awfully nice hands,” said a woman no taller than five foot, easy to see over and through, “I thought bassists hands were meant to be calloused and—“

“They are,” said John pulling his hand from her and running it across her arm. “They’re calloused and rough.”

Roger was across the dance floor, a woman on each arm, conversation passing between the three of them easily. He started pointing, gesturing at someone. That someone turned out to be Brian who awkwardly navigated his way through the crowd to Roger.

“My they are aren’t they,” said the woman. “I’ve always liked it a big rougher.”

Roger said something to the women and then something to Brian. John strained his eyes as if that would help him hear their conversation. Brian nodded, a stupid grin on his face. And Roger got on his toes while Brian leant down. They’d kissed before, John had seen them kiss before. But it never hurt like this.

“Why don’t we…” began the woman.

It lasted for ages. The women encouraging them to go longer. Roger finally pulled away and grinned at Brian who looked more embarrassed than anything else.

“Yeah, let’s go,” said John.

He took her hand and pulled her behind him through the crowd. And for the first time in weeks, his eyes met Roger’s as he wordlessly meandered to the door. John didn’t know what emotion was plastered across his face but he felt numb and empty. And Roger looked the same as his eyes darted between John and the woman with him.

 

~~~

 

As soon as the door was shut, John was on the woman. Kissing where he could as he fruitlessly tried to dissemble her intricate dress. She smiled against his mouth when he did.

“Hold on, I’ll slip it off for you.”

John’s groan in response was cut off by a bang in the hallway.

“What was that?” said the woman.

John shrugged but went to the door and peeked his head out. An overturned maid’s cart laid in the center of the hall. A few feet away stood Roger waiting while Brian tried to unlock his door.

“Rog, try and be quiet—”

“Fuck being quiet!” screamed Roger. Brian laughed and opened his door for Roger. Roger instead took a step towards Brian, wrapped his arms around his neck, and pressed their lips together. John just barely remembered how it felt to be kissed like that by Roger. Could just barely feel the ghost of Roger on his lips, in his mouth, trailing his body.

Brian turned his head with a laugh and let Roger leave a mark on his jaw. “Rog, come on, let’s get you inside.”

John watched them tumble into Brian’s room together. The door slammed but John couldn’t stop watching it. Waiting for it to open again and tell him it was a mistake, tell him what he just saw was a misunderstanding.

“You coming, Mr. Deacon?” called the woman.

He mindlessly shed his clothes as he meandered back to the bed to meet her. She sank to her knees eagerly and sucked his half-hard cock just as eagerly. He was miles away, trying to stay as silent as possible so he could hear what was happening in the next room. Mostly it sounded like nothing at all was happening, like maybe John hallucinated the whole encounter and Brian wasn’t even back from the club yet.

And then he heard a cry. It sounded familiar and it sounded like Roger.

“Was that next door?” laughed the woman.

John said nothing. He threw on the hotel robe and yanked his door open, letting it slam dent the wall. He had no plan, no idea what he’d do next. He just wanted it to stop, wanted Roger to go back to his own room alone. Wanted his hands off Brian, wanted Brian’s hands off Roger. It was immature, he knew that, it was pathetic, he knew that too, but even so he found himself gearing up to knock on Brian’s door. Preparing to interrupt and hopefully kill the mood.

But before he got the courage to walk over and rap on the door, it opened. And Freddie burst out.

“Deaky?” said Freddie at the same time John said, “Freddie?”

“What’re you doing?” said the two in unison.

“I heard…something from Brian’s room,” said John. John took a step forward but Freddie slammed the door behind himself, preventing John from getting a glimpse of whatever was inside.

“Go back to your room. This doesn’t concern you,” said Freddie nonchalantly.

“Why does it concern you then?” spat John.

“It doesn’t that’s why I was told to leave—”

“Why’d you come at all?”

“Because Roger’s…off tonight. I was concerned, but it turns out I have no reason to be concerned, he’s in good hands,” said Freddie.

“Fine—Fine! Just let him cut me out of his life completely and…do whatever the hell he wants with Brian! See if I care!” spat John.

He stormed back to his room and ignored when Freddie called out after him.

The woman welcomed him back by wrapped her legs around him. She was tight and eager and the rougher John went the more she enjoyed it. For once in his life, John was taking forever to finish. The woman was three orgasms in and getting tired but still encouraging John to take his time however he needed it. It wasn’t her fault, she was doing everything right, but it wasn’t right for John.

He wondered if think of someone else would work. If thinking of Roger would get him there. Part of him didn’t even want to try as it would just confirm what he’d been so expertly avoiding thinking about all month. But another part of him wanted to hurry up and go to sleep. So he closed his eyes and buried his face in the woman’s neck and thought of Roger.

Thought of his face the night they spent together, and how his hands felt and how his voice sounded, how his eyes dilated and his breathing caught in his throat when John moved his hand just so.

“Oh God,” groaned John, “Fuck, _Rog_ , I’m—“

John was cut off by the pleasure that struck him so sharply. His muscles gave out as he thrust a few last times into the woman. His cock oversensitive as he went, sending shudders down his spine. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull out, didn’t roll over. Because he knew what he said and he didn’t want to know what she thought. So he laid on her, face still in the crook of her neck, waiting to hear what she’d say.

“Rog…as in Roger…Like…Taylor?” whispered the woman.

Maybe it was the booze, or maybe he was just so fucking tired of denying it, but he nodded.

She carded a hand through his hair. Gentle and light. John held his breath, wondering what she was doing and what she’d do next.

“I’m sorry,” John blurted out when she didn’t say anything.

“No,” replied the woman simply.

John held onto her tighter and hoped she didn’t notice the few stray tears that roll his cheeks and met her neck when he heard Roger’s voice through the wall over and over again. She said nothing else the whole night but never let go, never stopped petting his hair or lightly dragging her nails across his back. And if he closed his eyes he could pretend it was someone else.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! It took forever for this chapter but after much debate I decided to split it in half. It was just better paced that way so now the next chapter will be the final chapter, so sorry!! Please comment if you like it! <3

It wasn’t a nightmare. He wished it were but when he woke up it all came back to him piece by piece. The woman he’d been with was still wrapped around him, her hand still in his hair. Sober, and in the light of day, she wasn’t as comforting and she’d been the night before. Now she was just someone who knew a horrible secret about him that he’d barely even told himself.

He rolled out of her clutch and started throwing his few belongings back into his bag.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” said the woman as John searched for fresh clothes.

“It’s only 10,” replied John. The woman wordlessly stepped out of the bed, collected her discarded dress and headed for the bathroom.

John threw his own clothes on, zipped his suitcase and sat blankly at the end of his bed. His thoughts were all over the place but simultaneously nonexistent. Almost like his own mind didn’t want him to think about where Roger had been all last night.

“Well, I’d best leave,” said the woman, startling John out of his own thoughts.

“Oh…yeah. Uh, they’ve got free breakfast downstairs if you want,” said John, unsure if that was even true.

“I’ll be alright,” said the woman. “Will you?”

“Don’t…” began John.

“Don’t get embarrassed. You’ll never see me again, there’s no need to pretend.”

“Can I just…swear you to secrecy?” asked John rather sheepishly.

“Of course.” The woman took a few steps towards him and wrapped her hands around his. Despite the blush he could feel across his cheeks, he looked up at her. “It’ll be alright. It’s hard now, but it’ll be alright in the end.”

She kissed his cheek one last time and let herself out of the room.

John couldn’t look at any of them on their way to the airport. And though Freddie was intent on pretending nothing happened, Brian and Roger were both ignoring John right back so it worked out in his favour. He stared out his window the entire flight and never once moved.

 

~~~

 

“John…What are you saying. You can’t seriously be—”

“I can’t do…this anymore,” said John.

Freddie was the only bandmate John felt comfortable looking at anymore. He stopped going out to the afterparties they’d had the last four days so Freddie would try and catch him in the dressing room or before he went to bed alone. That’s where they were, in John’s bedroom after a less than stellar show, both deciding to skip the afterparty that John didn’t want to attend and Freddie felt he didn’t deserve to enjoy.

“It’s been a strange tour, I understand but…you can’t quit.”

“I can,” laughed John. “It’s not hard to find a bassist who wants to play with _you_ and _them_.”

“Deaky, it took us so long to find someone like you, you’re irreplaceable. If you quit, it’s all over.”

“Then…I guess it’s all over,” said John.

“Deaky…” said Freddie, a little taken aback. John couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just his usual dramatics.

“I can’t stay here. Roger and Brian have…I…I can’t reconcile it, I just can’t. I know I told you this was all just a miscommunication between my head and my heart and that it all meant nothing, that I didn’t care about any of it…”

“Roger was a mess that night, Deaky. He was torn up. Completely in shreds. You can’t judge him based on that night. He’s one of your closest friends, he knows he made a mistake making such a big scene like he did but…John would you really fault him for one shitty night?”

“As if I’m supposed to believe it’ll end here,” spat John. “He and Brian are awfully chummy these days.”

“So what?” said Freddie, genuine confusion on his face. John didn’t have the patience to humor him.

“Look, I’ll finish the tour but after that I want out,” said John.

“I’m going to stop you,” said Freddie, his eyes welling. “You’ll have to claw your way out.”

John smirked. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Freddie wrapped his arms around John and held on for dear life, and John did the same. This wasn’t how he thought it’d end between the four of them but he knew better than to hang around after they’d made it clear how unwanted he really was. Though part of him wanted to stay just for Freddie’s sake. More than any of them, he saw Queen as a family and John hated being the one to break that image for him.

 

~~~

 

It’d been a week since that night, and the whole week John hadn’t said a word to Brian or Roger. To anyone really aside from Freddie who insisted on bothering him whenever he could. They had three long weeks left on the tour. John wasn’t sure how much longer the silent treatment would go unchecked by their managers.

John and Roger not talking off stage usually translated on stage. The rhythm was technically correct but there was something lacking every night and the audience could feel it. It put a lot more pressure on Brian and especially Freddie to keep them entertained and engaged when half of the performers were counting down the clock until they could leave. According to Freddie, Roger had been shouted out by their road manager but John, who never went out with the band as a group anymore, never got face time with the manager. He knew that was his only protecting from a similar dressing down.

“John, the label’s top contributors will be there tonight, I know you’re not keen on the afterparties lately but you will have to make an appearance tonight. It’s a bit nicer than a club, there will be free food,” said their road manager in the dressing room, minutes before a show. John knew he chose right then to mention it to him so John couldn’t argue and didn’t have time to come up with an excuse. “Even if you really do go through with quitting you have to come tonight. Contractually.”

Freddie told them all of John’s ‘evil’ plan to leave the band. John wasn’t there when he told them so he had no idea how everyone felt about it since no one was on speaking terms. But there was a tension that was new in their dressing room the night after Freddie made the announcement.

“I guess I’ll be there,” spat John.

“You will,” replied their road manager.

At least there would be free drinks.

The performance that night was better than it had been but a far cry from their best. John showered off quickly. He was focused on one thing and one thing only, getting that party over with as soon as he could. He’d make an appearance, talk to higher ups, and pester the road manager until he caved and let John back up to his room. That was the plan.

And it was going just fine. The party was better lit than most of their afterparties and women were more scarce than anyone hoped. There were more men in suits than anyone wanted but their road manager kept prodding them to talk. It was good for the band, good for the label. Although, John didn’t see much of the point if Freddie was so hellbent on ending the band when John left. Even so he made the tedious small talk he was told to make.

Much of his time was spent refilling his plate or his drink. He did so in small doses to ensure he always had an excuse to leave a conversation. He was pouring a few sips of spiked punch into his cup when Brian jostled him. Punch splattered all around the bowl and John cursed under his breath.

“Sorry, Deaks,” said Brian. Those were the first words he’d heard from Brian in days.

“Alright,” replied John, not looking up. He could feel Brian’s presence next to him but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

“Deaky,” began Brian, his voice much quieter now, “just for the record, I think you’re a real prick for this.”

John’s jaw clenched. He wanted to resist the bait but he was so tired of seeing Brian and Roger traipse around as if they’d done nothing wrong. “For what?”

“For treating Roger like you have,” said Brian.

“That’s rich,” muttered John into his drink.

“I mean it,” said Brian. “I didn’t expect you to love the idea, but to behave like this is cruel.”

“I’m being cruel?” spat John. “Me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re blaming Roger for something he couldn’t help,” said Brian.

“Couldn’t help?!” screamed John. A few heads turned in their direction.

Brian put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Lower your voice.”

John shrugged his hand off. “Fuck you!”

A few more heads turned, all looking for an explanation. John didn’t pay them any mind, he just continued glaring at Brian.

“It’s alright,” laughed Brian awkwardly to the crowd. He lowered his voice, “let’s talk in private.”

“Like hell!” spat John.

Brian grabbed John’s bicep, hard, and shoved him. To where, John couldn’t tell, but there was enough anger in Brian’s grip that he decided not to fight it. He heard Freddie cover for them joking loudly about their ‘lovers quarrel’ as Brian dragged John across the room to the first door he found. He threw it open and heaved John inside. John shook his arm out, he decided against complaining about the bruising.

They were in a bathroom, John gathered. Brian banged his fist against each stall door and emptied the women from the room before locking the door behind them.

“Thanks for that scene you just caused in front of our employers—” began John.

“I wouldn’t have had to drag you in here if you hadn’t thrown a fucking tantrum,” interrupted Brian.

“I’ve got all the right to throw a tantrum,” replied John.

“You’re a child,” said Brian, genuine disgust on his face.

John’s face felt hot, he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. “Fuck you,” was the best he could think of in response.

“I’m not above hitting you,” said Brian, his voice eerily steady. John didn’t know who, between the two of them, would win in a fight. Neither got volatile enough to actually fight, at least not until now. But he wasn’t eager to find out. Watching Roger all these years taught him that a fistfight often caused more problems than it resolved. “How can you be this callous, John? How can you be so hard on him?”

“Oh please!” spat John. “He’s not allowed to do whatever he wants, my feelings be damned, just because he’s drunk!”

“What?” said Brian looking bewildered. “Look, I know you’re upset about the scene he caused and I’ll grant you he hasn’t dealt with this particularly well the last few months but can you really give the poor bastard no leeway?!”

John was seeing red and doing all he could not to act on it. “I’ve given him more than enough.”

“He can’t help what he feels,” sighed Brian. He sounded defeated more than anything. “You thought you might have feelings for him once. Is there no sympathy there for him?”

“What do my feelings have to do with this—Frankly, what do his feelings have to do with this?” John wasn’t sure if the punch was starting to hit or if Brian was speaking a different language but something was off.

“What do you mean what do they have to do with this?” laughed Brian. “They’re the issue.”

“No!” laughed John. “The _issue_ is the two of you! I saw you two, Brian, I saw him kiss you and I saw you drag him into your hotel room! I heard him crying out all night! That’s the fucking issue! Is that you knew about what he and I had been working through, you knew, and he knew, he knew what it would do to me and the two of you still fucked! You stopped being my friends that night!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Brian, his face entirely blank.

“Don’t play dumb! I saw it, I heard it!” said John. The rage was subsiding as he remembered the sheer pain of seeing Roger pulling Brian into that hotel room. “I’m not an idiot!”

“Are you sure?” said Brian.

“Fuck off!” said John yet again. This time there was no anger in it, just pathetic desperation to be left alone to wallow.

“You really mean to tell me you think that, despite knowing every detail of your and Roger’s activities during this tour, knowing full well how complicated the situation was, knowing how bad it would hurt you, and despite Roger being so drunk he could hardly talk—you think despite all of that I would sleep with him? You think that little of me?” said Brian through clenched teeth.

“But…” began John, losing his conviction. “But I saw—“

“You didn’t ask though did you! In fact, Freddie told me when he tried to explain you weren’t having it,” said Brian.

“Well—Well—Well,” stuttered John. It didn’t make sense. He’d seen Roger kiss Brian, he watched them tumble into the hotel room together. He heard Roger’s cries through the wall. He saw Freddie run out of the room like he’d seen a ghost. It all pointed to one answer. “If you didn’t fuck, what the hell happened?”

Brian sighed, he seemed to accept that John had genuinely no idea of the true events of the night. “Well…it started when he called me over. When he kissed me at the club, he leant in beforehand and said ‘lets make him jealous’. I was tipsy, he was drunk, I didn’t know what he meant at the time, I just let him kiss me.”

“Seemed to enjoy it,” spat John. Brian took a deep breath, his teeth grinding. John almost felt guilty for that addition. Almost.

“Maybe a minute or so after, he came up to me and said ‘he left, he really left’. I didn’t know what he meant so I just nodded. And he went to the bar. And he ordered five shots which I thought were for the girls around him. But he downed them all right there at the bar. I stopped him from ordering more and asked what the fuck was wrong and he started sobbing. Really deep, shaking crying. Out of nowhere. Freddie I think was the most sober. He got us three into a car before anyone snapped and photos.”

A loud bang hit the bathroom door followed by a woman’s voice demanding entry. John couldn’t help but shout back ‘piss off’. He had to hear the rest of this fucking story.

“Anyway,” continued Brian. “He cried the entire car ride but he was too drunk to tell us what was going on. To get him through the lobby without anyone getting a glamour shot of poor Rog all redfaced, Freddie promised him all the booze in the mini fridge which cheered him up. He was laughing all the way through the lobby, he broke a vase. Freddie stayed behind to put it on our tab while I brought Roger upstairs. Which is what you saw, me trying to get him into the room and calm.”

“So why did he kiss you?” asked John. He couldn’t honestly find it in himself to care about that anymore. He knew by now that the kiss meant nothing but just a week or two earlier it had destroyed his image of his friends, and broken his heart.

Brian shrugged. “Guess he was excited for liquor? I honestly don’t think he remembers doing it.”

“Wait,” said John, coming to his own defence, “I heard him through the wall, Brian. I heard him—“ he stopped himself short, “…crying.”

“That would be the crying,” said Brian with an awkward laugh.

“I swear, that night it sounded like…not…sobbing,” said John, his words trailing off. “Wait—What about Freddie?! He flew out of your room like—“

“I was wondering about that too,” said Brian. “Freddie told me he met you in the hall and you still thought we fucked? Freddie was in the room and you thought we were fucking?”

“It…” made sense at the time. John swore it made sense at the time.

“Freddie came up a little later. Roger was curled on the floor crying but he couldn’t form words but he kept saying ‘he hates me’. Freddie told me that must’ve been about you, told me you rejected him two days after your…night together. Said that it ‘meant nothing’ to you,” Brian let those words linger for a moment. “Roger heard him talking about it and told Freddie to fuck off. He was screaming his head off for Freddie to leave since he was the one that ‘told you’ it meant nothing. So Fred left, and I stayed up while Roger cried and got sick the rest of the night.”

How could he have gotten it so wrong? The situation had been so clearcut, so obvious in the moment. Roger kissed Brian, Brian pulled him into a hotel room. That night he’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life. It hurt too much not to have happened. But there, huddled in a ladies’ room with Brian, he felt like an arsehole for ever believing they’d do anything of the sort.

“So that’s…” said John, waving his hand, “that’s what really happened?”

“Yes,” said Brian sharply. “So…did it really mean nothing to you?”

“What?” said John, his head swimming, the punch was hitting.

“Did that night really mean nothing to you?”

“No,” laughed John.

“Then why the fuck did you tell him—”

“Because!” interrupted John. “The past months he reacts fucking horribly to any insinuation that I might…I might have…He ignored me for weeks, Brian! And the morning after it happened he ran out of my room without a word. It’s not as if he was clear with his feelings. When I told him it didn’t matter I thought I was staving off another long silent treatment.”

“You know Roger’s bad with any emotion that isn’t anger,” said Brian, his face softening.

“Oh fuck off,” sighed John. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t get the excuse of not knowing how to deal with whatever’s happening to us. I’ve got no clue what to think either!”

Brian awkwardly patted his shoulders, unsure of how to best comfort John. He’d never been very ‘touchy-feely’ as he called it. John wasn’t sure he appreciated the effort in the moment though.

“He was panicking,” said Brian. “A lot of things change if…this continues. Or at least, if it stops being a drunk accident.”

“Why the hell was he panicking?” laughed John. “He’s the one that stopped talking to me. He threw me into a wall!”

“He did?” said Brian, John ignored it.

“He left me the next morning! How was I was supposed to know he was in crisis or whatever, he refused to even look at me!”

“Well…” said Brian quietly. “I bet he thought you were panicking too. Thought you would understand…And Deaky, I hate to be the one to say it but why aren’t you panicking?”

John ran the sink cold and splashed his face, muttering a ‘what’ in Brian’s general direction.

“Deaks, Roger’s single and free. You’re married with a son. Why aren’t you more concerned about what’s going on between you two?”

John thought it over sincerely, his eyes trained on his reflection. He probably should’ve been more concerned about it. Should’ve been more cautious about how far the two of them went. Should’ve stopped to really consider what he wanted not just from Roger, but from life, before letting it get to such a state. Pursuing the muddled up and complicated feelings he had for Roger, and Roger appeared to feel for him in return, meant either an affair or a divorce. He hadn’t planned on either when he married Veronica. But it felt inevitable now. Like he was in Roger’s gravitational pull and he’d either sink into him or get thrown out of orbit abruptly.

“I don’t know,” was all John could give Brian.

“Figure it out. Preferably before you officially quit the band,” said Brian. “And talk to Roger.”

 

~~~

 

John couldn’t sleep. He was thinking too much, something he was wont to do. But this time he needed to think it all through. He needed to decide what he’d do. If Brian was to be believed, Roger felt something for him. What? He couldn’t be sure, but it wasn’t nothing. And though he couldn’t pinpoint his own feelings for Roger, he knew they weren’t nothing either. Would Roger want to act on them?

It would risk the band’s integrity. It had already effected their performances during Roger’s prolonged silent treatments. There was no way they could promise that once they’d both come clean to each other it would stop effecting the performances. Equally as pressing was Veronica. What would he tell her? If anything. He slept around, they all did, but a standing affair with someone Veronica knew well was a thousand times harder to justify to himself. How could he live with himself knowing how badly he’d betrayed her trust, over and over again. Which meant they’d divorce. Which meant Robert would grow up in a split home and have a faggot for a father. He’d never be able to make any friends because of it, he’d resent John his whole life.

That was a hell of a lot to risk for the chance at Roger. Roger hadn’t held hard onto relationships. No matter how infatuated he was at the start, he lost interest somewhere down the line. His love life was a series of bright burning flashes in the pan. The idea of ending his married, risking his career, and dooming his son all for the chance at Roger didn’t sit right.

He rolled over, the clock read three. Lying in bed, tossing and turning, had done him no good. He dressed himself haphazardly in the dark and slipped his shoes on. He double checked his pockets for the room key before heading out into the hall. He didn’t remember what city they were in, but he knew he needed fresh air. He’d rather get lost in a mystery city than spend one more second in his lonely room.

“Deaky,” whispered a familiar voice somewhere behind him. He contemplated continuing to the elevators and pretending he hadn’t heard Roger. But he just couldn’t.

He turned and saw Roger, in pyjama pants and the complimentary hotel robe, one foot in his room one foot in the hall, an ice bucket in hand.

“Why are you awake?” asked John.

“I could ask the same of you,” said Roger. His face was plastered with concern but John couldn’t tell who for.

“I needed air,” replied John.

“Can I come with?” asked Roger.

John considered it for a moment. His tired mind trying to weigh all the pros and cons before giving up and nodding. Roger chucked his ice bucket into the darkness of his room and rushed to meet John up the hallway. Their walk to the elevator was silent, their ride down the elevator was much the same.

They wandered out through the lobby, John in his boots, Roger in his slippers. Roger took the lead and decided they’d start heading to the left. John tried to walk a halfstep behind Roger, but Roger slowed down to meet him every time. This was the perfect opportunity to talk, to clear the air, and yet John couldn’t think of a single word he wanted to say.

“Hey,” said Roger, stopping suddenly, and turning to face John. John reluctantly did the same. “You shouldn’t have said it meant nothing. Because I know it didn’t. I know that, I can feel it.”

“You’re right, it meant a lot to me,” said John bluntly. He couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked expression on Roger’s face.

“Well there goes the rest of my speech,” muttered Roger. “I thought it’d be much harder to get you to say it.”

“I guess you wore me down,” laughed John. Roger laughed with him. God, John was so sure he’d never hear that laugh again.

“I’m sorry, for…all of it,” said Roger. “It scared me a little I guess. Don’t know what I’m doin’ if I’m not with a woman. And you’re not just ‘not a woman’ you’re… _you_.”

“It scared me too,” said John. “It scares me.”

“Yeah,” said Roger. He patted his pockets for a cigarette before realising what he was wearing. John pulled out his own cigarettes and handed one to Roger who muttered a thanks.

“Free of charge,” said John, pulling out his lighter.

“So,” Roger took a long drag, “now what?”

The city was quiet. John found it odd for any city to be so quiet, no matter what time it was. It was as if everyone was shushing themselves and quieting others so John could finally hear what Roger had to say. John turned them around and they started back the way they came.

“Don’t take this wrong,” said John, “because I care about you. Far more than I should. And I…want you. I do.”

“That so?” said Roger, his ego audibly inflating.

“But,” cut John, “it’s a bad idea.”

Roger said nothing.

“I have a wife, Rog, a son. We’re great friends, it seems stupid to risk all of that,” said John after a prolonged silence from Roger.

“I understand,” said Roger. “I don’t like it but I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” said John. Roger crushed his cigarette under his slipper and laughed.

“It’s not your fault,” said Roger as they let themselves in the lobby doors. “We’ll laugh about this in a year or so.”

“You think?” John pushed the elevator button.

“I know so,” said Roger with his usual confidence. The elevator dinged and the two of them stepped on. “It’ll be a funny little interlude we had. Something that old friends laugh about in their nursing homes.”

John chuckled and silently hoped Roger was right while consciously knowing he wasn’t. This wasn’t something that would bring them closer. It didn’t have to effect them, they could work hard to not let it ruin their friendship, but John knew the most likely outcome was more of the silent treatment when Roger found he couldn’t handle his emotions as well as he thought.

The walk back to their rooms was quiet. The halls were abandoned for obvious reasons. They padded down the corridor hoping not to wake anyone and have to explain where they’d been. John stopped in front of his door, Roger stopped in front of his own right across the hall. John listened closely as Roger unlocked his door. He felt like he was getting his last glimpses into the small intricacies of Roger. Like he’d never again be this close to him, physically or emotionally. So he said whatever he could to stop that feeling.

“Rog—my lock’s jammed again,” said John.

“What?” said Roger through a laugh. “Last time your door jammed we were halfway across the country.”

John turned to face him, leaving the key in the lock, and shrugged. Roger stared at him for a short moment, saying nothing, before he sighed and took the step and a half to meet John at his door.

The key wasn’t stuck, the lock wasn’t jammed, and yet Roger just couldn’t seem to get it. Nothing he tried would unlock that damn door. But it was enough. The two of them pretending to have a broken lock for the sake of standing near each other a few extra minutes was enough. John could learn to live off these small moments next to Roger.

“Hey Deaky,” whispered Roger as the lock clicked open.

“Hm?” said John.

Roger’s eyes averted from the lock and met John’s. John had forgotten how big and blue they were, it’d been too long since John had last stared into them. Roger said nothing more. A hand snaked up John’s body and rested on the back of his neck. Roger leaned in, slow. John could feel his lips ghosting over his own.

“Yes,” said John, low and almost inaudible. But Roger heard it.

He kissed him with a softness, a tenderness John hadn’t felt from him before. It wasn’t rough and desperate or unnerved and unsure, it was confident but gentle. Comforting. John could’ve stayed there all night. Roger licked into his mouth, steady and patient, his other hand coming up to rest on John’s cheek. John’s hands didn’t know where to touch, didn’t know what Roger wanted. Before he could decide where to put his hands, Roger pulled away. Ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” said Roger against John’s lips. “I’m sorry—I’ll go to bed.”

“Or,” said John. Roger pulled back further. His eyes darting around John’s face.

“Or what?” said Roger.

“Or…one more night,” said John. “One last one.”

“You’re sure?” Roger was already breathless at the idea.

“No,” laughed John as he pressed another kiss to Roger’s lips.

Roger held him close, pinned their bodies together with the hand on the small of John’s back. He kissed back with a newfound fervour and fumbled with the door blindly. He go the door open and the two of them tumbled in.

They lost most of their clothes over the long journey from door to bed. Roger ripped John’s shirt in the process but when Roger threw him on the bed he couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. Roger threw his robe across the room and climbed on top of John, nestling between his legs and leaning down to leave marks wherever he could on John’s exposed skin.

John’s shoes got thrown off along with his belt. Roger nearly broke the zip on his trousers but thankfully John got to them first.

Roger gripped John’s trousers by the belt loops and tugged them out from under his bum. John helped kick them off his legs while Roger dodged and pulled at the ridiculous bellbottoms with all he had. With that done, Roger laid on top of him again, covering his mostly bare body and making him feel a little less exposed. His lips trailed up John’s neck and paused just under his jaw to leave a mark. Once he had he pulled away just enough to move up to his mouth. Roger tasted so much better like this. Sober and clear. He knew the next morning would be muddy and uncertain again, but for right now he knew this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Can I fuck you?” said Roger, his lips millimeters from John’s.

John surged forward to capture Roger’s lips again. His arms wrapped around his neck as he tried with his knees to nudge Roger’s pyjama bottoms off his hips. Roger laughed a quiet laugh but fell into John’s touch. He rolled his hips against John’s cock, rapidly hardening through his briefs.

John threw his head back at the sensation of Roger’s erection against his own.

“Is that a yes?” said Roger into John’s ear.

“It’s a ‘please’,” replied John.

Roger said, over and over, that he’d never done anything with a man, but he was no stranger to how men went about this. He promised John it would feel good, promised he would do anything to make it feel good. John didn’t know if Roger could deliver on that promise but, as he watched Roger scrounge around the bathroom looking for lube, he decided the effort was worth more than the delivery. Once he found what he was looking for he descended on John again, enveloping him entirely. He kissed him, deep and rough, and coated a finger in the lube he found before he slid it in. John was grateful for Roger’s tongue distracting him from the uncomfortable burn he felt. But the longer Roger went, the better it felt.

“Please, Rog, just put it in, I wanna feel you,” said John, his voice cracking as he spoke. Roger growled in response. He didn’t have to be told twice. Roger held himself above John, and kept his eyes on John, as he slipped in. Roger pressed a kiss to his forehead, then just under his eye, then to his cheek, then down to his lips as he bottomed out.

“Such a good boy,” said Roger against John’s lips. “God you feel fucking amazing.”

“It hurts,” said John. His thighs twitched around Roger’s hips. It hurt. Roger had done his best but it hurt. And Roger knew it hurt but did his best to calm John down, to get his muscles to relax. He stayed still for what felt like an eternity while John adjusted to him. Roger didn’t seem to mind. He spent that time peppering kisses across any part of John that his lips could reach.

“Okay,” grunted John, “okay move.”

“I’ll go slow,” promised Roger. His hips rolled slow and shallow against John’s. The slow movements started uncomfortable but gave way rather quickly to pleasure. Like a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.

Roger sped up. It was slight but John felt it. And John liked it. He clawed at Roger’s back, hoping to get more out of him. Roger took the hint and shifted his hips before continuing his ministrations. He went deeper and he went harder at John’s request.

“There’s a spot, Freddie told me about it,” said Roger as he left a mark under John’s ear. “If I hit it it’s supposed to feel amazing.”

“Then hit it,” teased John.

Roger grinned against John’s skin and adjusted his position slightly, slamming full force back into John. He hit it. Whatever that spot was, Roger found it. John’s legs shook each time Roger thrusts rubbed against it. He cried, he begged Roger not to stop, not to slow down, not to fucking change his fucking position. He wanted it like this. He wanted Roger nestled against his neck, sweating over him, hitting John’s sweet spot with each perfectly-on-beat thrust.

He didn’t last much longer after that. He clawed at Roger’s back as hard as he could. He’d apologize for the marks later. Right now the orgasm building in his entire lower half felt strong enough to kill him. Roger whispered unheard words of encouragement against John’s cheek as he jerked him off, rough and quick and just what John needed. Roger pulled back just enough to kiss him.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” said Roger. And John did.

The noise he made was inhumane. A low guttural growl that seemed to surprise Roger just as much as it surprised him. Roger stroked him through it but didn’t slow down, chasing his own orgasm. He came soon after. John stared at up at him when he did. He’d seen him come before, but it didn’t get old. The expression on his face was gorgeous and John tried to memorise every inch of it in the few moments he had before Roger came down.

He pressed sloppy kisses to John’s lips and chin before falling on the bed next to him, breathless and tired. They laid there, panting and silent for a minute or two until John caught his breath and muttered something about cleaning up. Roger muttered an apology for forgetting to pull out that John just barely heard over the bathroom door closing. He rinsed off and carefully avoided the mirror.

Roger was almost asleep when John slipped into the bed next to him. He wrapped his whole body around John and spooned him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Goodnight, Rog,” said John as he flicked off the bedside lamp.

“Good…night—John, I think I love you,” said Roger, stumbling over his own words. John wondered if Roger, with his hand pressed to John’s chest, could feel his heart speed up at those words. There were too many reasons that his heart raced though, too many reasons that involved Veronica and their future. He couldn’t enjoy those precious words like he wanted to. So instead he threaded his hand through one of Roger’s and kissed each of his fingers.

“Rog, go to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! Okay sorry this took so long to post! I had some things get in the way and I know I said this would be the last chapter but I think there was a natural break in the pacing and I was planning on uploading the last two chapters both at once so you would all still have the ending to the story but I decided to just post this one first so there'd be some new content. I did accidentally post this with the last 3k words missing so if you saw it go up and come back down thats why haha! Comment if you like and thanks for the patience! <3

There were no words the next morning. Roger kissed John goodbye and that was that. It was for the best. He told himself over and over that it was for the best. The best for his son, his wife, himself, and Roger. They had fun on the tour and now it was over.

They all said brief goodbyes and went home for a month’s rest before getting back in the studio. That month cleared John’s head. The tour pulled his heart and mind in every direction but being at home with his son he knew he’d never do anything else to risk his family again. That included quitting Queen. John called off his resignation after a week back home and Freddie announced that he never would’ve been able to leave anyway.

Getting back to the studio was smoother than John thought it might be. Everyone behaved as if the drama of the tour never even happened. Roger did too. It was like it never happened and for the most part, John was glad of that. But part of him, a small part of him, wanted to have Roger’s attention back. Roger didn’t neglect him in any sense of the word, their friendship was mostly back to normal. And, though it was exactly what he’d asked for, that bothered John. But what could he say? ‘I can’t be with you but please pine for me’? No, he kept quiet and didn’t waste any of their studio time with his pointless need for Roger’s attention.

“Veronica invited us to a birthday party for your baby. What the hell do we do at a birthday party for a baby,” said Freddie as John watched Roger smoke. It was bad for him, Brian was begging him to quit practically every day, citing studies about cancer and emphysema. John agreed it was bad for him and he ought to quit or he’d end up dead but there was something hypnotic about the way he smoked and studied his drums while he worked out a tricky bit of one of Freddie’s creations.

“What?” said John, not taking his eyes off of Roger.

Freddie snapped in front of his face. John blinked and turned to face him. “Deaks, you’re never listening.”

“Sorry,” said John with a laugh, trying to brush it off. Freddie didn’t laugh in return.

“Fucks going on with you, Deaky? You’ve been dazed the last three full months and you’re working on a fourth. We’re trying to record a fucking record here and you’re always miles away,” said Freddie, equal parts irritated and concerned.

“My playing’s been—”

“Yes yes,” said Freddie with a dramatic wave of his hand, “your playing’s been just fine but we need your mind in here too Deaks.”

“It’s here, Fred,” said John.

“It’s there,” said Freddie, gesturing to Roger on the other side of the glass.

“We worked it out,” said John.

“After you fucked,” added Freddie. John’s blood ran cold. Freddie saw him tense up and put a hand on his arm. “He told me a week ago. I was ranting and raving about how your bloody baby had distracted you from work. He said it wasn’t Robert’s fault it was his own.”

“He’s noticed too…” said John. It was one thing to be yearning for his attention in his own mind but if Roger, the past three months of recording, had been fully aware of it John might honestly have to try and quit again to save face.

“You’re all over the place, we’ve all noticed,” said Freddie. “So what is it, John. Do you want him? Do you want an affair? Do you wish it never happened? What’s going on?”

John shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.” That was the truth. After the tour while he was at home with his wife and son it’d been so clear. So clear that that was the life he wanted and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. But all of that surety and confidence wobbled and shook when he spent more than five minutes with Roger. He wanted every conversation to last longer, every look to linger, every touch to be purposeful, every moment to be alone together. And that didn’t fit with his home life.

“You’ve got some idea,” said Freddie. “If you say it, it’s easier. Or have you learned nothing from the tour?”

John smirked at that, Freddie prodded his sides and got a laugh out of him.

“I want nothing, I want nothing,” said John. Freddie rolled his eyes. “I mean it. I want my son and Ronnie to be happy and that’s all. Roger doesn’t factor in to that.”

“You know Deaks…It’s not exactly equivalent…But I thought staying with Mary was kinder. Because she loves me and I love her so I must make it work. But now that we’re apart, we’re both happier. The people close to you, like you wife for example, will be able to tell when something’s wrong. It’s almost crueler to leave them in limbo, wondering when you’re finally going to give in.”

“I’m not like you, Fred,” said John quietly.

“Maybe you’re not,” said Freddie, “but when you’re with Roger you are.”

“Freddie!” crackled Roger’s voice over the speaker.

“Yes, Darling?” said Freddie into the microphone.

“I quit!” said Roger.

“Alright, just finish the song and you can quit.”

 

~~~

 

John helped Veronica prep their little townhome for Robert’s birthday. He felt stupid doing it. Robert wasn’t going to remember any of this so why was he on a step stool hanging streamers. But it was mindless work and it let him think. He watched Veronica carry around Robert on her hip, asking him where he wanted the streamers to go, and wondered if she knew already.

He thought he covered his tracks well but she knew him better than anyone. Better than Freddie maybe. She hadn’t seen him around Roger but maybe she picked up on it. Maybe she knew and was waiting for John to tell her, maybe she was in just as much denial as he was, or maybe his facade hadn’t cracked and she had no idea. Was it crueler then, if she had no idea, to tell her anyway and destroy the life she thought she had. He couldn’t find out if she knew without telling her essentially. He had to just trust his own intuition. Something he didn’t want to do ever again since the last time he trusted his gut he slept with Roger.

The guests filtered in. The only people John knew in attendance were Freddie, Roger, Brian and Chrissie. Everyone else was a friend of Veronica’s or Robert’s. Friends they’d made in the neighborhood, friends they made through the daycare. Friends they made while John was on tour the last two tours. Strangers who had all thankfully brought their children.

John was in no mood for adult conversation and neighbors prodding him for information either on what Freddie Mercury was like behind the scenes, or how he could support his family with a ‘fake’ job. So instead he entertained the kids there while Veronica entertained the adults. Brian filtered in mostly unseen despite his height and his hair. Chrissie, about five months along now, held Robert while Brian introduced himself around to the guests who already knew who he was.

Roger and Freddie arrived later, wearing clothes John used to describe as ‘ridiculous’ but now described as ‘Roger and Freddie-esque’. The whole event was to ensure John and Veronica stayed friends with the neighbors and that the neighbors kids would become friends with Robert. Nothing could’ve more ensured that Freddie showing up to a child’s party with a bottle of champagne and big goofy grin. No matter how bigoted or disinterested someone was, no one could resist Freddie’s charm face to face.

John waved hello to them both and wandered to the kitchen for a break from the people, though his excuse was refilling his drink.

He avoided his bandmates most of the party and took refuge in the kitchen as often as he could. After Robert blew his candles out, Freddie popped the champagne and wouldn’t let anyone talk themselves out of having some. John needed a drink and took one of the glasses Freddie was handing out.

“Congratulations, Deaky, he’s an entire year old,” laughed Freddie.

“Thanks, he studied very hard for it,” replied John.

He heard Roger laugh, somewhere across the room, and turned. His eyes were locked on Freddie’s, both laughing at John’s joke, but Roger was circled by children who were running their hands all over the velvet of his sleeves.

Briefly, very briefly, John imagined what Roger might be like with a child. With his child. He might make a good step father for Robert.

He stopped himself there. Roger was a lot of things, a lot of wonderful things, but a monogamist was not one of them. He was happy with Veronica and Robert and he was happy to have Roger as a friend. He wouldn’t ruin that on the off chance that he was the one person Roger would settle down for.

“Take this to Roger,” said Freddie, handing John another glass of champagne.

“Oh…I—”

“Come on, Deaky, don’t be shy,” teased Freddie, knowing exactly what he was doing and knowing John couldn’t say anything about it.

He took the glass and delivered it to Roger who looked to be eagerly awaiting a chance to escape the clutches of the kids. He took a big swig of the champagne and gave apologies to the children around him saying he wanted to talk to John about taxes and they had to be left alone. Roger pulled them into a corner.

“Taxes?” laughed John.

“We can talk about anything, I just can’t have one more tiny hand grab my shirt,” laughed Roger.

“Don’t you like kids?” said John.

“I like Robert—I love Robert. Robert’s actually cool. But I don’t like mystery children with sweaty hands touching my hair,” said Roger.

“At least no one got cake on the velvet.” John hadn’t been so close to Roger in months. They were still on tour last time they talked so close. It was a comfort to think that maybe it was over. All of the awkwardness between them that kept them at arms length was starting to fade.

“See that’s why I’m such a fan of Robert. He’d never do anything to endanger my outfit,” laughed Roger into his glass.

“That is his number one priority these days.”

“So how’s Ronnie?” said Roger, averting his eyes, suddenly very interested in his own shoes.

“You’re allowed to ask her yourself.”

“I know I just…feel weird talking to her.” Roger wouldn’t look at John.

“She’s good,” said John. “You don’t have to feel uncomfortable.”

“Why? Did you tell her?” said Roger, no longer terrified of eye contact. His pupils were enormous as he stared at John in what looked like pure panic.

“Of course I didn’t tell her, I’m not insane,” replied John. “I just meant that it’s the past…”

“Okay…” said Roger.

“What do you mean ‘okay’,” said John under his breath. His son’s birthday party was no place to cause a scene.

“It means okay,” said Roger equally as silent meeting John’s eyes. John stared back. Both equally stubborn. Roger rested a hand on John’s arm. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah,” breathed John, acutely aware of how willing he was to do anything for Roger in that moment.

John scanned the room, checking to see if anyone had witnessed their strange little aside in the corner. Thankfully most everyone was wrapped up in one of Freddie’s stories. He caught the eye of one of the neighbors whose eyes were locked on his own. He mimed to the neighbor that Roger had been drinking and hurriedly ushered Roger out into the garden.

Roger followed John out of the backdoor and lit a cigarette before it shut. John took it from his lips and put it out against the stone wall of the house.

“No smoking at home,” said John.

“We’re outside,” whined Roger.

“Those are the rules,” said John with a shrug as if he had no control over it. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“You’ve been distant,” said Roger. He was standing too close but John didn’t mind.

“Have I?”

“You have,” said Roger. He passed John and sat on the little bench by the flowerbed Veronica planted a few months ago. He rested his forearms on his thighs and looked pensively at the stones interlocking along the patio. “I know why.”

John had a feeling Roger could sense he wasn’t exactly moving on from their night together but instead dwelling on it and reliving it whenever he had the fucking chance. But for Roger to confront him about it was an entirely different animal, he could already feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I—” began John.

“It’s because of what I said that night,” interrupted Roger. “That I thought I was…in love.”

“Oh…” said John. “That.”

“I just want you to know for certain that I’ve moved on. You don’t need to tiptoe around me, you don’t have to handle me with any special care,” said Roger, looking up at John intermittently and quickly. “You’re happy with your wife and your baby and I don’t want to ruin that for you, and I want you to know I’m not…bitter about it or anything.”

“I didn’t think you were,” said John, shyly. He sat by Roger on the little bench and stared straight ahead when Roger stared at him.

“Oh…Okay. Maybe it’s in my head,” said Roger with a laugh. “I know we still talk the same and fuck around the same but I…just felt like something’s been off the past few months. But I guess I was overthinking it.”

“I think I was too,” said John.

Roger linked and arm around John’s neck and shook him. “Good! The air’s clear, now I can bully you again.”

John laughed as Roger’s arm shifted down and wrapped around his shoulders. John couldn’t help but nuzzle into him just a bit, just get that little bit closer. Roger didn’t protest. His arm around John was secure but gentle.

“John?” said Roger, his voice a mix of a whisper and a murmur. John turned his head to look at him.

“Yes?” replied John, his voice just barely audible.

The backdoor jostled open and jolted them apart. Veronica stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light inside. The smile on her face faded when she laid her eyes on them.

“Am…I interrupting?” said Veronica.

“No no,” laughed Roger. “Sorry I was venting to Deaky about the album, didn’t mean to steal him away.”

“Oh…” said Veronica. She stood motionless in the doorway, trying to read John. John knew he wasn’t an easy read, he did that on purpose, but he could never put anything past her. After a few beats of the uncomfortable silence, Roger stood and announced he and Freddie ought to leave. He muttered apologies as he passed Veronica to get back inside. John stood as well and tried to laugh off Veronica’s shock.

“He and Brian are always at each other’s throats,” said John nonchalantly.

“Right…” said Veronica. “Why was…he…so close?”

“He does that when he’s drunk, talks too close, thinks you can’t hear him,” said John. She saw right through him. But she said nothing.

 

~~~ 

 

“I was too fast, I think,” said Roger into his mic.

“What else is new?” teased John into his own mic on the other side of the glass. Roger choked on a laugh, his eyes locked on John’s. John hadn’t noticed it before, the strange tension between them that Roger had told him about. But now that it was gone he wondered how he hadn’t been tortured by it before. “Run it again, I’ll clap your tempo if you need it.”

“I’m not an amateur, Deaks,” said Roger.

“I can turn the metronome on,” said John.

“Very funny, just run the playback, I’m close,” said Roger.

John told the engineer in the booth with him to start the playback over. Roger’s face of concentration was hilarious to John. Always had been. He looked like he was about to perform surgery not music. Roger missed his cue, shaking his head and taking his headphones off.

“Deaks!” groaned Roger. “Clap it!”

“That’s what I thought,” said John into the microphone.

The playback of Freddie’s demo recording played. John clapped the time for Roger. Roger made faces at him each time he looked up to make sure all of the correct beats were falling on one. He didn’t rush the fills this time though. He always did that, always wanting to see just how fast he could do it without his sticks flying out of his hands.

“Much better,” said John after Roger finished his take.

“I can do better,” said Roger.

“The engineer’s going on a break, you’ve finally broken him,” said John as the engineer patted him on the back on his way out.

“We don’t need him for this, we know how to press record,” said Roger. “Don’t we?”

“We do. I don’t,” said John. “Don’t pretend you know what these buttons do. Once more then.”

“Once more. Clap it.”

John did, his eyes watching the levels this time but looking up intermittently to see if Roger had looked up. John hadn’t even listened to his performance, he was more concerned with the soundboard that the engineer was normally tinkering with the entire time.

“That was it,” said Roger.

“You’re sure?” said John.

“Don’t make me doubt myself now,” said Roger. He shook out his wrists as he stood and then his arms.

John let himself out of the booth and into the studio. Roger was quick to pat his pockets for cigarettes. John swatted him away and dug his carton out of his pocket before handing one to Roger.

“Free of charge,” said John as he lit Roger’s cigarette. “You’ll lose your falsetto smoking, you know.”

“Who told you that?” laughed Roger.

“Freddie’s singing coach told him,” said John. “Said your range shrinks and lowers.”

“That won’t happen to me,” said Roger.

John rolled his eyes. “Because you’re invincible?”

“Exactly.” Roger ruffled John’s hair. “Is this Brian’s doing? Has he enlisted you in the effort to get me to quit?”

“No,” said John. “But Ronnie’s making me quit. Wants me to live long enough to see Robert’s first child so…”

Roger stiffened. “How is she? How’s Robert?”

“You saw them two weeks ago,” said John. “They’re about the same as they were then.”

“Robert still one year old?”

“One year and two weeks now.”

“Good for him,” said Roger, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “Was she uh…Did I get you in trouble?”

“At the party?” asked John.

Roger nodded but wouldn’t look at him. “I know we didn’t do anything wrong but she looked…off put.”

“She was. Only for a few days,” said John. He took the cigarette from between Roger’s lips and breathed the smoke into his lungs. “We talked after everyone left. She said it looked like more than just a friendly chat. I told her you just get like that when you’re tipsy. Told her we kiss at parties sometimes. Said it was all just for a laugh, that there was nothing strange going on.”

“And she…believed that?” said Roger.

“Because it’s true,” said John.

Roger took his cigarette back. “Right.”

 

~~~

 

“Why did you invite her,” groaned Brian somewhere to the left of John.

“She’s my wife, I love her, I like spending time with her,” said John flatly.

“Yeah yeah, we know, but if she’s here I can’t even flirt without it getting back to Chrissie,” spat Brian.

“God forbid you don’t flirt with women for one night,” replied John.

“Don’t act so high and mighty. At least I never fucked anyone she’s had over for dinner,” said Brian.

John was tempted to throw his drink in Brian’s face, but he knew he deserved that. He couldn’t give Brian shit for his affairs when he had his own, though not nearly as many, and one of those was with Roger. Who Veronica knew, who Veronica sent Christmas cards to. And he had to agree, he was more on edge with Veronica at the party.

Reid decided that a big blowout would be good publicity, good hype, for the forthcoming album. Something to keep Queen’s name on people’s minds until the album was ready. John found he much preferred parties where he knew no one, where no one had expectations of him that he’d have to maintain. He couldn’t let loose like he liked to, not with semi-distant friends and his wife present.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. But John told her about his and Roger’s little party trick and part of John knew she either wanted to see it for herself, to gauge if it really was as harmless as John said, or to stop it entirely. Either way, she was watching him like a hawk and he could feel it every time he went to the bar to refill their drinks.

And, as much as he’d been dreading having a drunken Roger in the same room as his wife, he was enjoying himself talking with her the whole night between drinks. She was just as fun as he remembered when they first met on a dance floor all those years ago, and she’d only got better at dancing. But there was something missing now. He hated to admit it, and he figured he’d never tell Veronica, but things weren’t the same since the tour. And he wasn’t sure they would ever go back to normal.

“So when do the two of you normally start snogging?” said Veronica through a laugh. She hadn’t found the idea so funny two weeks ago when he told her, but he wasn’t going to question it.

“Usually when Roger’s out of conversation,” replied John. “It happens quicker than you’d think.”

“I’m sorry,” said Veronica.

“For what?” replied John. If he’d been more sober he wouldn’t have prodded.

“For…getting jealous over something that…” she shook her head and took a big swig of her drink, “something that’s just…ridiculous. I feel like Chrissie, getting jealous over everyone that comes near you. God—and to be jealous of Roger of all people. He’s your bandmate, he’s like your brother—he’s a fucking man! I don’t…know where my head was.”

It wasn’t an apology John wanted to accept. Because she wasn’t as far off base as she thought. Her jealousy of Roger was warranted whether she knew it or not.

“It’s okay,” said John, a guilty smile flashing on his face. “It’s a weird situation for you to be in, a weird world that I’m living in. I understand.”

She kissed him, and he held her, and he wondered if this was it. He still loved her, and couldn’t imagine a life in which he stopped loving her, and maybe that was enough. He was sure, in that moment, that what he felt for Roger would be fleeting in the end and he’d regret going after it if it meant losing the one constant in his life.

“Can we leave?” said Veronica into John’s ear.

Part of John wanted to sneak out under Freddie’s nose and take her home to show her how much he loved her. And he might’ve done that had he not caught Roger’s eye. He was across the room, a woman talking in his ear but he wasn’t listening, John could tell.

“I would,” said John to Veronica, “but the label wants us to stay as late as we can.”

“Oh,” said Veronica, a little disappointed, “well hurry back.”

She kissed him goodbye and when she pulled away, Roger was still staring at him. John watched Roger whisper something to the woman he was with before crossing the room to him. He stayed perfectly still, his lips never leaving the straw in his glass.

“How’s your night?” said Roger, his cheeks pink, his eyes a little glassy. John knew he looked much the same.

“I’m alright,” said John with a stupid drunken grin that Roger mirrored.

“Let me see this,” said Roger, taking John’s drink. He handed both their glasses off to the first person that passed them.

“I was drinking that,” said John.

“I don’t care,” replied Roger.

With that same smile plastered across his face, he shoved John into the wall behind him. John laughed when he made contact, though he noticed a few people look over at the thud he made. Roger didn’t notice those people as he stepped into John. He cupped John’s cheek, let his thumb run over his skin, and John leaned down just a bit to let Roger meet their lips.

Even drunk, even a little numb from the coke and the bass music vibrating the room all night, it felt like heaven. John grabbed a fistful of Roger’s crushed velvet shirt which he knew, sober, he’d get yelled at for even touching. Roger put his thigh between John’s. When he heard the deep moan that came from Roger, he practically whimpered.

“Fuck,” muttered John. Roger pressed a kiss to his jaw and grinned before moving lower and beginning a mark on John’s neck.

Did this count? Did this count as being part of the party? Did it count towards their decision not to continue anything with each other? They were drunk, high, tired, was this a funny anecdote for later or was it an embarrassing public mistake. John’s mind couldn’t focus long enough to decide. Until a bright flash urged John to open his eyes. The lights were low enough, the drinks were strong enough, that the people watching looked unbothered. But John knew a camera flash when he saw one, and as Roger left mark after mark his eyes darted around searching for the source.

“Rog,” mumbled John. “Rog, someone took a picture.”

Roger pulled back, concern flickering across his drunken face.

“When?” said Roger.

Before John could answer, Freddie appeared at their side. When John caught Freddie’s gaze all he saw was disappointment and frustration.

“Get a fucking room,” spat Freddie.

“What?” replied Roger through a laugh.

“I mean it,” said Freddie with a shove to Roger’s shoulders. “If this is how it’s gonna be, at least have the decency to hide it from the people who know Veronica.”

“Fred, it’s just fun,” said Roger, “the ladies love it.”

“What ladies?” said Freddie gesturing to the few people around them. There was the usual crowd around Roger but most had begun averting their eyes as if they were intruding rather than whooping and cheering like they were supposed to do. Freddie turned to John and said, “sober up and get home before you do something you’ll regret.”

Freddie stormed off but soon donned his party persona that was cracking jokes and stealing everyone’s attention. John watched him walk off, his intoxicated mind doing its best to sort out his emotions, something he couldn’t even do sober. He was interrupted by Roger taking his hand and guiding him out of the thick of the party. And while he didn’t know exactly where they were going, he found he didn’t care as long as it was quieter.

Roger ushered him into a bedroom. The house wasn’t theirs so John knew he wouldn’t feel bad if he got sick on the floor at any point. His spinning head and churning stomach made that feel like a very real possibility. He sat on the edge of the bed while Roger shut the door.

“You alright?” said Roger from the door. John nodded. “Is it what Freddie said?”

John nodded. Roger sat next to him on the bed and sighed deep and slow. Both of them wanted to be more sober than they were.

“Look, began Roger, “I didn’t do that for the girls, but…I promise I’m over it, John. I swear. I don’t want you anymore, I’m happy for you and Ronnie, I swear. But I do like…You’re a good kisser John. And it’s consequence free, ya know, since we’ve both moved past everything it’s just a bit of fun.”

“Yeah,” said John. That sounded like Roger. It sounded like him to get addicted to something as small and meaningless as kissing John but he couldn’t honestly say it meant nothing to him. He wanted it to mean nothing, he wanted to be able to just have fun like Roger, but he couldn’t.

“John, I mean it.”

“I know you do,” said John. “Sorry, I’m a little…”

Roger tucked his hair behind his ear, his hand lingered and trailed down John’s neck where his fresh hickeys were before setting across John’s shoulders. Roger’s other hand held John’s chin and gently turned his head to face him. John stared at Roger, and Roger stared back.

“It’s just fun,” said Roger, sending a shiver up John’s spine.

“Mhm,” replied John lazily before surging forward. Roger was so intense, and he kissed him with that intensity. John melted into him and when Roger pushed him back onto the bed, he went without a word. As they laid there and Roger’s hands explored his chest and held him tighter, he wondered when he’d stop it. If he’d stop it. He told himself he was enjoying it and letting it continue because he was so drunk, so high. But he knew he’d have the same difficulty stopping if they were both sober.

Roger started unbuttoning John’s shirt. And John let him. Roger rolled them and climbed on top of John, he kissed from his ear down to his collarbone, then moved lower, and lower still, and lower still, and then his teeth were tugging at his belt. His hands finished the job before his teeth worked the zipper of his trousers down.

“Rog,” said John. “We…”

“Tonight’s for you,” said Roger, looking at him from under his heavy lashes. Roger tugged John’s skin-tight trousers down just enough to get his cock out. “It’s always bigger than I remember.”

John knew he was bright red but the darkness of the room covered that for him. Roger pressed soft kisses along his hips before dragging the flat of his tongue up John’s already half-hard cock. John threw his head back. Roger laughed and stroked him, slow and firm.

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” said Roger before wrapping his lips around the head of John’s now fully hard cock. His tongue swirled in circles around him. John didn’t know if it was the cocaine or if it was Roger that was making it so good but he didn’t care. Roger’s hands left no part of him neglected even when his mouth couldn’t quite fit as much of him as he wanted to.

“Sorry, I’m trying to get it deeper but—“ began Roger.

“It’s perfect, don’t stop,” interrupted John, his breathing labored and desperate already.

Roger grinned big and wide and paused for a moment before continuing. Despite John promising he was deep enough, Roger kept going just a bit further, and each extra millimeter made John’s body shiver. He tentatively reached down and put a hand in Roger’s hair. Roger moaned around him in response, the vibration made John’s legs tremble which he hoped to God Roger didn’t notice.

“I’m close,” said John, not knowing what Roger wanted to do. He expected him to jerk him off the rest of the way but he didn’t. He got just a bit more of John into his mouth and moved as fast as he could. The sound of Roger’s almost panicked breathing and John moaning his name filled the room, getting louder and louder, until they both went dead silent.

John held his breath and could only manage one choked groan as he came. Roger stopped looking up at him and shut his eyes tight. John hadn’t ever been in Roger’s position but he couldn’t imagine this part was all that pleasant. Eventually his eyes opened again. He looked up at John, his tear-filled eyes locked on him as he pulled off. He gave the had of John’s cock one last swirl of his tongue which made John twitch with oversensitivity.

“God,” sighed John.

“Good?” whispered Roger.

“Amazing,” replied John.

Roger grinned and crawled his way up John’s body. Roger rested most of his weight on John but held himself up just enough to look down at him with a big dopey grin. John reached up to wipe the tears from Roger’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to choke yourself like that,” said John. “I would’ve been fine with anything you did.”

“You’re welcome,” laughed Roger.

“Thank you,” added John.

Roger kissed him, sloppy and a little tentative. John wrapped his arms around him and kissed back full force. Something about tasting himself on Roger’s tongue made it so much better. Roger stopped holding himself up and fell into John. Part of John, most of John, wanted to fall asleep there in Roger’s arms. But Veronica was waiting for him.

“What time is it?” mumbled John into Roger’s neck.

“It’s,” Roger craned his neck to get a glimpse of the clock, “it’s 3.”

“I should go home…” said John, he couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice. He didn’t want to.

“Right,” said Roger, his arm around John tightening. “You know I really am happy for you and Ronnie. You were both so domestic at Robert’s birthday. It was…adorable.”

“Thanks,” said John. It felt strange to be talking about her right then and there.

“And I’m glad we’ve both moved past all of the awkwardness,” said Roger.

“Me too,” said John. But in truth, they both knew, the distance between them would only grow if they kept it up. John wanted him too badly for any of this to just be ‘a bit of fun’.

There was a knock at the door which sent them both flying away from each other.

“John, Rog?” said Freddie on the other side of the door. “Put your dicks away, I’m coming in.”

“They’re not out,” replied Roger. He sat on the edge of the bed, his arms on his thighs, his head in his hands. John couldn’t tell if Roger was tired or upset but he was too focused on fixing his belt to ask before Freddie let himself in.

Once Freddie stepped in his eyes went directly to John’s hands fiddling with his buckle. “I see.”

“It’s not what it…” began John, his voice trailing off as Freddie stared at him.

“Roger, can I talk to Deaks alone?” said Freddie. Roger look to John before nodding and leaving without another word. Freddie closed the door behind him and sat with John on the bed.

“What’s up, Fred?” said John as if nothing happened.

“Deaky…Darling…What are you doing?” said Freddie.

“What do you mean?” replied John.

“I mean what is this?” said Freddie gesturing wildly. “Do you still have feelings for him? Are you going to leave your wife? Are you going to start a real affair?”

“No to all of those,” said John tiredly. “We’re both totally past the whole…touring…situation. He just…likes kissing me and I like it too. We’re just having some fun, no emotions involved just…fun.”

“You’re sure?” Freddie cocked his head. “You’re sure there’s no emotions here?”

“I’m positive. Roger won’t shut up about how little he feels,” said John with a mirthless laugh.

“I meant you.”

John stared straight ahead. He thought about unloading it all on Freddie, confessing that he wasn’t as okay as he pretended. But if he let it all out now he’d never get it back in.

“I ought to get back to Ronnie,” said John before leaving Freddie alone.

 

~~~

 

He couldn’t look at Veronica during, he was full of too much guilt and shame to meet her eyes. So he kept her on her stomach.

“How was the party by the way?” said Veronica. John, still coming down off the high of another orgasm, was too breathless to form a sentence. Veronica found it endearing. “Anything interesting happen after I left?”

John shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, what a shame. I love hearing about Freddie’s antics,” said Veronica with a little laugh. John stared blankly at the ceiling, his breathing finally back to normal. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” said John. “Yes. Just a long night. I’m tired is all.”

“You’d tell me if something were wrong?” said Veronica.

“Of course,” said John carelessly. He wrapped himself around her and pretended to be more tired than he was, hoping she’d drop the conversation off there

 

~~~

 

Robert crying woke him the next morning. He prodded the empty space where Veronica had been sleeping, hoping she would quiet him. He opened his eyes when he felt the empty space next to him. Each of his joints cracked when he sat up and shuffled to Robert’s crib. He always got upset when they slept in these days. John hoisted him up and out of the crib and held him on his hip.

He, bleary-eyed still, meandered to the kitchen and sat Robert in his highchair. John got a bowl of Cheerios for him. Then one for himself. He found Veronica had already made a pot of coffee and silently thanked her for it as he poured himself a mug. His sleep deprived mind tried to recall where Veronica might be, if she had an appointment she told him about and he’d forgotten. It was then that he noticed the belt on the table.

His own. From the night before. Coiled up neatly in the center of their little dining table. John picked up the coil of leather and looked to Robert for an explanation. Robert gave him none. He went to set it back down but stopped short when he noticed what was underneath the belt.

‘QUEEN FULL OF QUEENS’ read the headline of the shitty tabloid sitting on the table. The photo underneath the bright red letters was of him and Roger. Roger pinning him to a wall, grinding his thigh between John’s. He was attacking his neck and the look of ecstasy on his own face was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” muttered John to himself. He reexamined the belt still in his hand and saw what Veronica did. Bite marks from Roger practically chewing it off. “Fuck.”

He told her the night before that Roger giving him those hickeys was playful, funny, for an audience for a crowd a way for Roger to get some attention. And now there was proof that he’d lied. And lied big. And God only knew what she thought of the belt. What excuse could he have for that.

The phone rang, John almost didn’t pick it up. He caught it on the last ring and winced as he brought the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

“Deaky?” said Brian on the other end.

“Oh, hi Brian,” said John.

“You know we had the studio booked for this morning through to dinner, right?”

“Oh shit,” grumbled John.

“You’re rivaling Freddie. Forty five minutes late is more his style,” laughed Brian. John mustered up a fake laugh in response. “Okay well hurry over.”

John hung up the phone and slumped back down in his chair. He didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to see Roger. He stared down the barrel of his Cheerios for an eternity. Unsure of what to do, what to say, who to call. Before his cereal became mush entirely he heard their front door open. At least she came back.

“Ronnie?” called John tentatively.

“John,” replied Veronica flatly. Her footsteps getting closer to the kitchen until she stood in the doorway.

“I can explain,” said John.

“Can you?” snapped Veronica.

“Yes, look, it looks bad but the picture, it’s misleading there were more people around, more people watching, it was all a show—ask Fred—“ began John.

“Shut up!” screamed Veronica. She slammed her purse on the table to punctuate her words. “Tell me the truth! What did you two do!”

Robert cried so Veronica picked him up out of his chair and held him on her hip. John thought about concocting a lie on the spot or trying to convince her she was mad for thinking any of this was anything more than a show. But watching her bounce their son, watching Robert claw at her for comfort she was too angry to give, he decided the truth might help more than it would hurt.

“He sucked me off,” said John, surprisingly even himself.

“He…” Veronica took a deep breath before deciding to sit across from John. She reached out for the belt on the table, her hands running over the bite marks. “He did?”

“We were drunk, Ronnie. Really far gone,” lied John.

“And so this picture…those were the hickeys you tried to hide from me?” said Veronica.

John’s hand instinctively crept up to cover the marks Roger left on his neck. “I’m sorry, Ronnie.”

“Why’d you do it?” She stared at him, her eyes full of tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“I don’t know,” replied John.

“You have to do better than that,” spat Veronica as she angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Ronnie, I swear, it meant nothing. We were drunk and Roger’s always been…adventurous like that. It just happened,” said John.

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Swear on my life,” said Veronica.

“What?” said John with an uncomfortable laugh.

“Swear on my life,” repeated Veronica. “Swear that this meant nothing to you and may I die if you’re lying.”

“Don’t be so childish,” groaned John.

“You’re deflecting—“

“I’m not deflecting!” shouted John.

“Yes you are,” screamed Veronica. “If you really meant what you said you would just swear on my life but you don’t mean it because it did mean something didn’t it?! There really is something going on isn’t there—“

“Come off it, Ronnie! Do you hear how you sound?! You think I’m in love with Roger because I won’t swear it on your life?!”

“I know you’re lying!” screamed Veronia, her tears coming faster now. “I know you’re lying, John Deacon!”

“I understand you’re upset, and you have every right to be but you’re not seeing this clearly—”

“I’m not crazy, John!” screamed Veronica.

John sighed, tears beginning to form in his own eyes as he saw what he was doing to her. Every assumption she made was correct and John was cruelly tricking her into believing she was seeing problems where there were none. She could feel how distant he was, she noticed how different he and Roger were around each other. And he was driving her insane telling her it was all in her head.

God if she could’ve just ignored it a little longer, he could’ve really stuffed his feelings back down and recommitted to their family. Probably.

John opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out, but was interrupted by the phone ringing. He kicked his chair back and nearly ripped the phone out of the wall trying to get the receiver off the hook.

“What?” spat John.

“You’re still home?! Fred, Rog, he’s still at fucking home,” groaned Brian on the other end.

“Yes, I’m still at fucking home, I’ll get there when I fucking get there!” John slammed the receiver down and paused. He stared at the pattern on the wallpaper in dead silence for a few moments, the only sound in the room was Veronica suppressing her sobs.

John took a deep breath and turned to face Veronica. “I swear on your life.”

She just shook her head and hurried out of the room. John watched her go. He had nothing left to say to her. He heard Robert crying somewhere in the living room and her voice shushing him before the front door slammed shut.

 

~~~

 

Veronica took the car. John got a taxi over to the studio. It was better he didn’t drive while he was so wound up anyway. He strode into the studio and listened for the sound of familiar voices. But he heard none. He wandered into the booth they normally used and found their usual engineer counting Roger off.

Roger looked up for his cue and saw John. John waved, Roger grinned big and stupid and leaned into one of his mics.

“Guess who finally showed,” said Roger.

John clicked on the mic on his end. “Where’re the others?”

“Taking a break, they’ve been at each other’s throats all afternoon.”

“Great.”

“Clap for me,” said Roger.

John laughed and clapped the beat for Roger while the engineer began the playback again. Their day recording went off without a hitch. For once they got real work done and nobody threatened to quit the band or destroy their instruments. And no one asked John why he was late or why he was so tense. But John knew that they all already knew why. They’d all seen the headline too.

It was a tabloid, and Queen as a whole was no stranger to salacious stories with little to no truth to them popping up in random tabloids. The stories were flashes in the pan that people never remembered and that the four of them never bothered getting upset over. But this was different. Because there was so much truth to it. The photo they took wasn’t a fluke, it wasn’t misleading, it wasn’t an exaggeration of the truth, it was exactly what happened. And maybe the world would forget in a week but John wouldn’t, Veronica wouldn’t.

They left when their scheduled time was up. They’d outgrown their days of living in the studio through all hours of the night. They said their goodnights to each other as they filtered into the parking lot. It was only then that John remembered he hadn’t driven there.

“Where’s your car?” said Roger.

“With Ronnie,” said John.

“Does that mean you need a lift?” said Roger, elbowing John playfully.

“It does, sorry,” said John.

“You’re on my way, don’t worry about it.”

John couldn’t bring himself to make conversation, not with Roger, not now. And Roger’s attempts at conversation were shut down instantly with one-word answers. He knew it was selfish to shut him out. He knew Roger must be feeling incredibly vulnerable after what happened but he couldn’t talk about it now.

“We’re stopping,” said Roger as he pulled up to a red light and ran right through it.

“What?” replied John.

“You and I. We’re going to get a drink, we’re stopping,” said Roger.

“No, Rog, I need to get home,” said John.

“You were an hour late to work, you can be twenty minutes late getting home,” spat Roger as he gunned it into the nearest pub carpark. He put the car in park, turned off the engine and got out. He circled the car and opened John’s door. “Get out, we’re getting a drink.”

“Rog…” sighed John.

“Come on,” Roger held out his hand. And John took it.

The clientele were all a bit older, all looking directly into their drinks and not saying all that much which meant John and Roger slipped in relatively unseen. Roger stuffed them into a booth an order two pints of the cheapest lager they had. John knocked half of his back in one gulp, Roger eyed him but said nothing as he took smaller sips of his own drink.

“Alright, Deaks?” said Roger after John drank down the second half of his pint.

“Mhm,” replied John.

“Because you seem off,” said Roger.

“Do I?” said John, his eyes focused on the edge of his glass.

“You do.” Roger held his glass up but put it back down before took another drink. “Look, John, I know it’s more complicated since you’re married but…if you were going to be this weird about it you never should’ve let me…do what I did.”

“This isn’t about that,” spat John.

“Then what is it about?” replied Roger, looking helpless. “I blow you and the next day you’re an hour late to practice and you won’t look me in the eye. Sorry if I assumed that meant it was something to do with what happened.”

“Lower your voice,” warned John.

“Then tell me what’s wrong. We were so close to getting back to normal, I don’t want to go backwards again.”

“It’s not about what happened…” John sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m having an off day, Rog. It’s not because of what happened, or anything you’ve done. It’s just…that…this morning Ronnie saw the headline about us…and the hickeys you left on me, and we…fought about it.”

“You…” Roger stared at John intently. “What did you tell her? What was your excuse?”

“I told her it meant nothing, because…I guess it didn’t,” said John. Roger sank back into the booth a bit and nodded. “And I told her…what happened.”

“Why’d you do that?” said Roger lurching forward across the table and looking over his shoulder once or twice. “John, I know that we know what we do is all fun and games and it’s…nothing…at all. But she’d never understand that, she’s gonna castrate me—why did you—”

“You left bite marks on my belt,” interrupted John. “She saw them and put two and two together and I just…couldn’t lie to her. She was in tears, going crazy over not knowing the truth, I had to tell her.”

“Oh…” Roger sat back, guilt painted across his face. “How bad was the fight?”

“Bad. She was crying and screaming and after I swore to her face that this was nothing, she just left. Took Robert and left. No clue where she went I’m just praying she’s there when I get back.”

“Oh…God,” muttered Roger. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s someone’s fault.”

“It’s mine,” said John tiredly. “I’m the one who made a commitment to her, it’s my fault I keep breaking it.”

“So do you think what we do…counts?” said Roger, averting his eyes when John looked up at him.

“Counts as what?”

“As something? As something that’s not just a bit of fun?” said Roger, meeting John’s eyes for one fleeting moment.

“Oh…” said John, drinking the rest of Roger’s pint. “No…of course not. Of course…no. It’s nothing. What we do it means nothing.”

Roger pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay…Well I guess that means you and Veronica will be just fine. Excuse me.”

Roger slid out of the booth and didn’t look back as he shoved his way through the crowd. John massaged his temples and watched him go. He couldn’t tell if Roger was just double checking or if he was onto the fact that John wasn’t past the feelings he had for Roger on tour. He wasn’t sober enough to be sure, although he felt even sober he’d be unable to read Roger.

Roger returned with another pint and slid it to John. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thanks for buying—”

Roger waved away his apology. “’S what I’m here for.”

John smiled into his drink and Roger smiled back.

John’s head was swimming on the drive back. Roger played loud music for them the whole way but didn’t sing along, though he did occasionally laugh when John failed to hit a note that wasn’t terribly difficult.

“Oh come on! Deaks! You could speak that note!” laughed Roger.

“There’s a reason I don’t even do the backing vocals,” laughed John.

Roger rolled his eyes and turned onto John’s street. He turned the radio down, almost off, and drove at a snails pace. John thought, for a moment, that Roger forgot which town house exactly was John’s. But one look at Roger’s white knuckles and clenched jaw told him otherwise.

“What is it?” said John in a voice lower than he intended.

Roger smirked. “That obvious?”

“That obvious,” repeated John. “Go on, what’s wrong?”

“I…John…” Roger huffed and raced up the remainder of the street and swerved into the open spot in front of John’s house. He threw the car into park and turned completely in his seat to face John. “It’s not nothing.”

“What?” muttered John, still a little thrown from the sudden acceleration and braking.

“It’s not nothing, to me. Deaks, when I said I loved you in that hotel room I meant it and I know I said I was over with that, and we could be friends, but I lied. I’m not over it. I still want you.” Roger panted. A mixture of adrenaline and anxiety pulsing through him. John could only sit there, wide eyed and tipsy, and wonder if he was dreaming again. “And I’m…really fuckin’ sorry for all we’ve done under the guise of it not meaning anything. Because it all means something to me. I don’t want to ruin your marriage, I really don’t. You haven’t even told Veronica the whole truth and she’s gone fuckin’ missing. I don’t want to do this to your family especially since…you don’t feel the same.”

“You’re…Rog…” John’s brain couldn’t consolidate all of his thoughts fast enough.

“I just want you to know that if I start being more distant it’s not because I’m…It’s because I need space to properly get over it. I want our friendship to last for a long time—I want your marriage to last for a long time. So if I need space…please don’t take it personally. I just…it just all meant a lot more to me than it did to you,” said Roger with a sad little sigh.

John had no words to explain it all back to him. Didn’t want to waste more time explaining that he felt the same, that he’d also been shoving his feelings down to try and salvage their friendship and save his marriage. And that it wasn’t working, and that every moment alone with Roger was worth the world to him. But there were no words that could get that across fast enough. So he slid across the seat closer to Roger, pinned him to the door, and kissed him with all the force in his body.

The squeak of surprise that Roger let out made John grin against his lips. Roger snaked his hands around John’s waist and held him that little bit closer. Each searing touch from Roger had him wondering why he ever denied it. Why he ever pretending like this wasn’t exactly where he was meant to be.

John reached between them and clawed Roger’s belt open. Roger babbled a series of half words as John unzipped him.

“Deaky, Deaky, wait, you don’t have to, Deaky—“ began Roger, cutting himself off when John stroked him once. “John.”

“Rog,” whispered John against his cheek. It was uncomfortable and John knew they’d both have awkward bruises later but neither could find it in themselves to give a shit. John buried himself further and further in Roger’s neck, stroking him faster and faster, twisting his wrist intermittently to get those beautiful moans out of Roger. Roger clung to him tight, panting into his shoulder.

“Deaky,” whimpered Roger. John pulled away just enough to catch his eyes. Roger leaned up to kiss him, sloppy but passionate.

“Almost?” asked John.

Roger nodded and grit his teeth. John, in a drunken state of inflated confidence, leaned down to give just the head of Roger’s cock a tentative suck. Roger nearly cried. John didn’t have the comfort or conviction to try and take any more of him into his mouth but Roger didn’t appear to need that. He clawed the headrest of his seat and swore when he looked down to meet John’s eyes.

“I’m close, Deaky—Deaky!” screamed Roger. John resisted gagging when Roger came. It didn’t taste good but it was bearable, and before he knew it he’d swallowed it. Roger shivered when John left him. He stayed still, eyes on John’s, for a few beats of recovery before he grabbed John’s shirt and pulled him back in for a kiss. John melted against him. Roger’s kisses moved from his lips to John’s jaw, where he murmured, “John, why’d you do that? Why’d you do it, Deaky?”

“I…” began John. He stared out Roger’s window blankly. He saw the kitchen light flick on, saw Veronica’s shadow moving around against the sheer curtains of the window. “I have to go inside. I have to go.”

John scrambled for his door, while Roger frantically righted his clothes and begged him to wait, to explain. John ignored those pleas and rushed up his front steps. He shakily unlocked his front door and burst inside, no idea what he was going to say to Veronica. The truth would hurt her, but he knew that the lies were already hurting her. And at this point, whether he and Roger had any kind of chance or not, she deserved to hear what had him so distant.

“Ronnie!” called John into the house, tears already in his eyes. “Ronnie!”

“Shh!” snapped Veronica as she rounded the corner into the foyer. “Baby’s asleep!”

Without another word, John wrapped his arms around her tight and held on for dear life. Veronica stayed perfectly still, though her hands slowly moved from her sides to rest on John’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” said John, his voice choking up.

“What have you done?” said Veronica, her voice equally strained.

“I…fell in love with Roger,” whispered John. He felt her sag against him heavier, he held her up. And when he felt her crying, he cried too. And he apologised, and he stroked her hair, and she held onto him tighter and tighter still. He didn’t know how long they were standing their in the foyer trying to give each other some kind of comfort, but eventually she pulled away.

“Tea?” she croaked out. John nodded. “I’ll bring it through.”

John sat on his end of the sofa and stared into the dying fire in the hearth. Veronica soon joined him with two cups of tea. She handed him one and sat flush against him, holding her own cup and staring blankly into the hearth as well.

“What’ll we do?” said Veronica. “Will we divorce?”

“I don’t know,” replied John. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” Veronica slumped against him, he wrapped his arm around her.

“I still love you, Ronnie.” He kissed her head. “Very much. I just…”

“And to think…” said Veronica, “we all joked at how oblivious Mary was to not know about Freddie. And here I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” sighed Veronica as she smeared her tears across her cheeks.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! This whole month has been a disaster haha! I'll leave another note at the end but comment if you like and again! Also I can't always respond to all of the comments but I do read and enjoy them all very much! Sorry for the wait!

“I can stay with my sister,” said Veronica the next morning as John handed Robert his breakfast. “I’ll take him with. She’ll love seeing him.”

“No, I can leave,” said John. “I can go stay with Freddie for a few days or something. Invite your sister here. Robert hates sleeping away from home.”

“Freddie won’t mind?” said Veronica. “And you won’t mind having to tell Freddie?”

“Well…It’s my fault, I might as well be the one to embarrass myself,” said John with a laugh that Veronica didn’t share.

“I’ll go to my sister’s,” said Veronica again. “I want to get out of the house.”

“Oh…okay,” said John. “Tell her anything you like.”

“I will,” said Veronica, tears in her eyes again. They stopped and started all morning, she was becoming more annoyed with them than anything. “Robert can adjust, it’ll be fine.”

“It will be fine,” repeated John. “It’ll all be fine.”

“You’ll be okay leaving me alone with Robert?” said Veronica. “I’ll show him your picture, he won’t forget you.”

“I’ll be okay…I won’t like it but I’ll be okay,” sighed John, catching his finger in Robert’s palm. Veronica smiled weakly at the two of them.

“Can you get a lift to the studio,” Veronica wiped her eyes between each word, “I want to get some shopping done before we leave.”

“Of course,” said John. He kissed her head as he passed by her to get to the phone. Roger lived closest to him, and his route to the studio went right through John’s neighborhood. But even so, he felt strange calling Roger in front of Veronica. He dialed his number and waited as it rang. But he never picked up. John dialed twice more and still got no answer. So he called Brian who answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Bri, it’s John,” said John. “Can you give me a lift into the studio later?”

“Morning, John—Chrissie it’s just John—I would give you a lift but I think Freddie cancelled it for today,” said Brian.

“You think?” said John.

“He called about an hour ago and said Roger called and said he was ill and couldn’t come in. So Freddie said if Roger wasn’t showing up he might as well not show up and if Freddie and Roger aren’t showing up why should we be showing up.”

“Ill?” said John. “What does he have?”

“Freddie said he sounded fine. I reckon he’s just frustrated with that solo he can’t speed up properly and wants a break,” said Brian.

“I…bet that’s it,” said John. “Well let me know if the plans change.”

“Will do. Love to the wife,” said Brian before hanging up.

John told her Brian was picking him up late, not wanting to explain the whole situation. She told him to watch Robert while she got dressed. John dialed Freddie’s number and sat across from Robert, watching his round little hands move about his highchair.

“Hello?” said Freddie.

“Fred, it’s me,” replied John.

“Oh…” said Freddie, his voice trailing. “What is it?”

“Where’s Roger?” said John, lowering his voice just a bit.

“John…I think you should leave it be,” sighed Freddie. “I know you mean well but Roger’s decided to stay as friends. Give him space, let this blow over.”

“He told you that?” said John.

“Mhm,” replied Freddie.

“When,” said John.

“Came over this morning all teary,” said Freddie. “Said he was destroying your life and complicating things that didn’t need to be. Said it was best for your friendship, best for the band, if he ‘stopped tempting you’.”

“Tempting me…” sighed John. “What does that mean?”

“Deaky, he loves you. He can’t just be a side adventure for you to have when Veronica’s not looking, it’s hurting him. But he’s sworn he’ll get past it if you just give him a bit of space, don’t prod him.”

“I need to talk to him,” said John.

“Well…I don’t know what to tell you,” said Freddie. “I don’t know where he went. Said he might run back to Truro to clear his head.”

“Fuck,” muttered John.

“Why? What’s so urgent?”

“My…um…” John watched Veronica pass through the hall, no doubt looking for the purse she left by the door. “Can we meet?”

“Of course, I’m dying for details. Come by when you can.”

“I will,” said John.

He hung up and dressed Robert while Veronica made a list of all she needed from the shops. John trailed behind her, Robert on his hip, helping where he could. He loaded the car for her and strapped Rober into his car seat. He held the car door open for her and hesitated before closing it. She turned over the engine and rolled the window down.

“John, I know it’s not the same as all your women on tour, I understand it. I don’t blame you, don’t think I’m doing this to punish you,” said Veronica.

“I don’t deserve you,” replied John.

“Yes, you do,” said Veronica flatly. “I need to regroup but it’ll be okay. I still love you, John.”

“I still love you too.” John kissed her cheek. She waved out the window as she drove away.

It wasn’t permanent, he knew it wasn’t permanent, but walking into the empty home he’d built with Veronica was draining. Every square inch of the place reminded him of what he’d done. And though it hurt now he wouldn’t take it back. It was kinder to Veronica, kinder to Robert, kinder to Roger, and kinder to himself to just admit it all and let the chips fall where they may. This part was going to hurt, but it would hurt less than a strained marriage and a sense of resentment between the both of them as well as a ruined friendship with Roger.

He got dressed, in a hurry to leave, and started his walk to the train station. The good thing about being the quietest member of the band was the lack of recognition in public. With his head down he was able to navigate the tube with little to no gawkers. He wasn’t in the mood for photographs or autographs, he just needed to get to Freddie, to explain it all. After the train ride was a five minute walk which ended at Freddie’s stoop. He knocked as hard as he could until Freddie screamed at him to shut up.

“Fucking hell,” spat Freddie as he threw the door open. “You can come in only if you promise not to do that ever again.”

“Sorry,” muttered John, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. Freddie eyed him suspiciously.

“Come in, Darling, you look like hell,” said Freddie. “Tea? Breakfast?”

John shook his head in response and led himself through Freddie’s townhome straight to the nearest couch where he melted into the fabric. Freddie followed behind him at a slower pace and sat, very poised and dignified, in an arm chair near him.

“Why do you look like you’re on the lam, Deaks?” said Freddie, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ronnie left,” said John.

“Oh…my God,” replied Freddie, putting a hand on John’s knee. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“It’s okay,” said John, though his watering eyes told a different story. “It’s mutual I guess.”

“Oh?”

“I…I feel so stupid,” said John. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“He told me he laid out everything and promised he’d get over it. And you kissed him and got him off and ran inside scared as soon as you could.”

“Is that how he phrased it?” said John, his head cocked.

“Yes. He said you looked terrified that you’d done something horribly wrong and ran inside without looking back.”

“Maybe that’s how it looked,” sighed John, his head in his hands. “I just…I had to tell Ronnie. I guess it was all the drinks but I wanted to tell her and have her tell me…I wasn’t insane.”

Freddie laughed. “I’ve been there.”

“She cried so much,” said John, his eyes staring into the middle distance aimlessly. “So much. And so did I. And then we talked for a long while, all night. She’s gone to her sister’s for a few days. Took Robert. She needs to sort it out in her own mind I guess.”

“Are you alright?” said Freddie once again.

“I will be…but I need to tell Roger that…” said John, his voice getting lost in his throat.

“You’re not in love too are you?” scoffed Freddie. A few tears stained John’s cheek as he nodded. Freddie tutted and hurried to sit next to him and wrap an arm around him. “Darling, that’s nothing to cry about.”

“I know,” said John, a weird laugh slipping through his sobs. “And this is the right thing for Ronnie and I, even though Roger doesn’t want me back, but I don’t know what to do next, Fred.”

“Well,” Freddie sighed deep and tired, “Roger has feelings for you, John. He told you last night.”

“But he wouldn’t have left if—“

“He left to clear his head. He’s in love, and so are you, it’s not like you misinterpreted anything but when Roger came over here ranting and raving a lot of it made sense.” Freddie wiped John’s cheeks maternally. “He said he didn’t want to fuck up your marriage although that ship has sailed. But he also said he didn’t want to hurt the band or you or himself. There’s a lot at risk in this scenario, I don’t blame him for thinking it’s best to let it pass.”

John hung his head and nodded blankly, hoping to keep his voice steady, to maintain some dignity. Freddie kept his arm around him tight and pulled him against his chest, stroking his hair intermittently.

“What do I do now, Fred?” sighed John.

“Do what Rog’s is doing. Take some time to think about it. Roger wants to move on it seems, so maybe you should do the same. We can take a week off from recording.”

“Fred, I need to talk to—“ began John.

“No you don’t. He needs space, he practically begged me not to call him. Give him his space and he’ll come back when’s ready. Go home, think it all over good and hard,” said Freddie.

“Okay…Did he say how long he’d be gone?”

Freddie shrugged. “As long as he needs.”

 

~~~

 

Veronica promised she’d be back and John was getting stir crazy without her and Robert, but she needed time as well. When he called her, which was every morning and night, she told him she needed a few more days. Just a few more days away and she’d be alright to come back and get into the nitty gritty of whatever the hell they were going to do next. But she said ‘a few more’ every night before they fell asleep.

John didn’t want to get into it either, he didn’t want to have to think about divvying up the life they built together, but he wanted to see her and Robert again. At least for her, at her sister’s, it could feel like vacation and suspended reality. John was left to wander the halls of their little townhome alone. Constantly confronted with the new reality of their lives. And it got lonely. He didn’t even have the solace of the studio.

After two weeks of empty promises of return from Veronica, and radio silence from Roger, John sheepishly invited Freddie and Brian for lunch. He couldn’t help feel borderline guilty when he saw them. After all it was partially his fault that they’d either delay the album or have to work twice as hard to release it on time. But, if they were bitter about that, it didn’t show. And if they were annoyed with John’s sloppy cooking, they didn’t let it show. They sat together at the little dining table and ignored the empty highchair.

“How’s Chrissie?” said John.

Brian shrugged. “Crankier these days. Pregnancy sounds like hell.”

“Ronnie would agree,” laughed John, though the smile left his face when he glanced to her empty chair.

“How is she, by the way?” asked Freddie. “Do you talk?”

John nodded. “I call every morning, every night. She’s doing alright it sounds like but…she’s been better.”

“So will you two get a divorce or…will you just be separated or?” trailed Freddie.

A kick landed hard against John’s shin. Freddie jumped when John screamed and the guilty look on Brian’s face gave him away. “Sorry, that was for Fred.”

“Aim next time,” spat John. “You don’t need to be kicking him anyway. It’s no secret.”

“Thought you might not want to talk about it,” said Brian.

“It’s okay,” sighed John. “I don’t know what we’re doing. She won’t deal with it until she comes back and…she won’t come back.”

“She has to clear—” began Freddie.

“—her head. Yes, I know,” finished John. “I just wish she could clear it while she was here, while Robert was here.”

“It’s not forever,” said Freddie reassuringly.

“Certainly feels like it,” sighed John. He sat back in his chair and stared at the empty space where Veronica should’ve been.

“I need a fuckin’ cigarette,” huffed Freddie.

“Take it outside, no smoke in the house,” said John.

Freddie didn’t argue and promised he’d be right back. John watched him go, silent and tired. Brian’s foot found his under the table and kicked between his shoes. John couldn’t help but grin when he looked up and saw Brian’s expectant face. Brian grinned back.

“Finally, a smile,” said Brian, all teeth.

“I have been gloomy lately, I know,” sighed John.

“You’ve got the right,” said Brian. “So eh…you’re…in love?”

John shrugged and nodded. Telling Freddie he was in love with Roger was easy, it came out before he even realised he said it but telling Brian felt a little more like a confession than a conversation. “But…you know…the two of us are putting it behind us. Better for the band that way.”

“Who told you that?” laughed Brian.

“Well, Roger said it to Fred, Fred said it to me. You have to admit, there’s a lot at stake…It’s best not to risk it,” said John, his eyes fixed on the glass of wine in his hand.

Brian nodded thoughtfully. “If that’s what you think’s best.”

“I do. I love you three, I don’t want to ruin that on a chance.”

“Then I’m sure you both can put this behind you. Though I can honestly say I never thought we’d be in this situation,” laughed Brian as he took a sip of the wine. “Even when Freddie told us about himself, I never thought we’d have this problem.”

“Caught me by surprise too,” laughed John.

“So…if you’re plan is to move on…why’ve you split with Ronnie?” asked Brian. His eyes averted from John’s, he knew he was asking about a touchy subject but John figured he owed them answers at this point.

“I might not be with Rog, but I still fell in love. That’s not nothing. She’s hurt enough by the random, faceless women on tour. For me to…go and fall for someone…” John pulled a thread out of the upholstery of his dining chair. “Maybe when she comes back I can tell her Rog and I are a nonstarter and we can take divorce off the table or something.”

“Well…” Brian cleared his throat, a habit and indication he was uncomfortable, “we’re here for you no matter what you and Ronnie sort out.”

“Thanks, Bri,” said John, a grin tugging at his cheeks. He knew it. Freddie’d said it over and over but Freddie would hide a body for him. It would take much more than an affair gone wrong from Freddie to abandon him. John could tell Brian was fighting the uneasiness he felt with the situation to offer John support. It wasn’t as comforting as knowing Freddie’s door was always open but it still meant plenty.

“Alright,” said Freddie as he threw the door to the garden open, “I think we could all use a night out.”

“I don’t think so Fred,” began John.

“What, you got more wallowing alone to do, Deaks? You need to get out of this house for a night.”

“It’s barely noon, Fred,” said Brian.

“Do you honestly think I give a fuck what time it is. We’re drinking, period.”

 

~~~

 

He hadn’t been on a pub crawl with Freddie and Brian in ages. It’d been so long since they’d been able to do it without getting recognised and swarmed. But going so early had it’s perks. They hopped from pub to pub and downed pints without tasting them. For the first time in weeks, John found himself laughing, smiling, all without forcing himself to do it.

John watched Freddie dance with Brian and drank the last of his pint. He didn’t know how many he’d had, he long since lost count but it felt like the perfect amount. Freddie dipped Brian, John choked on his beer and turned to share a laugh with Roger, who wasn’t there.

Roger was probably helping prepare dinner with his mother right about then. He wondered what they were talking about, if Roger was as torn up as he was. He wondered if Roger decided, maybe, that he was better off without them. Maybe he was taking so fucking long to come back because he didn’t want to come back. Maybe John ruined it already and no amount of waiting for these feelings to go away would fix it.

“John!” groaned Freddie as he slid back into the booth. “You’ve got a look on your face, tell me you’re not thinking about him.”

John smirked. “Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do?”

Freddie smirked back at him, and nodded a little drunkenly. “I guess you are.”

“Do you think…he’s leaving…for good?” slurred John.

Freddie rolled his eyes and shook his head. “The melodrama!”

Freddie called Brian over and asked him to call for two cabs. Freddie took his own cab uptown, John and Brian shared since, more or less, they lived in the same direction. Though John was fairly certain Freddie didn’t want him in a cab alone and made sure Brian rode with him the whole way.

It didn’t matter if he had company on the ride home, the home was still empty. Still devoid of the family he’d hurt. He stumbled in the door and checked the clock on the mantel for the time. Four thirty. John shook his head, laughing at himself for how drunk he was so early in the day.

He clumsily made himself a bourbon and flopped onto the couch. He didn’t have the energy to get up and turn on the radio or the television. He didn’t want to either. In the drunken silence of the house he actually found some comfort. He could think his thoughts without the usual distractions or embarrassment. So he thought them all the way through this time. Thought about those stupid kisses he and Roger shared on tour at parties, thought about when Roger nearly killed him for kissing him in their hotel. Thought about how Roger felt that night, straddling his hips and ripping clothes off him, how he looked when he came in John’s hand. How he sounded when he called John’s name over and over. And how Roger felt inside of him. He blushed and laughed at the memory. It hadn’t been their most graceful night but he’d never wanted anything more than he wanted Roger that night.

He still had that. He could still feel that stupid, schoolboy giddiness of new love in the pit of his stomach. Roger was more experienced with love. He was better at love. He knew how to be in it and be happy and committed and he knew how to leave it and move on. John had none of that. He’d fallen in love once before and he married her. Roger might only need a couple weeks to move past this, but John knew he’d need longer, if it was even possible.

He wanted to know how Roger moved past it. How he got over Jo, how he didn’t let it affect his work, how he didn’t let it effect his life. How he could imitate that. And it wasn’t his best idea, but he was dragging the phone over to the couch before he could really consider it. He dialed Winnifred’s phone number. He didn’t know he remembered it, he didn’t even know he knew it in the first place. But it was unmistakably her when she picked up.

“Hi, Mrs. Taylor, is Roger there,” said John using his best sober-sounding voice.

“May I ask who’s calling?” replied Winnifred.

“Oh uh, it’s John Deacon, the bassist for the band Queen,” said John. He winced at how drunk he sounded though Winnifred didn’t notice.

“Oh of course, sorry dear. With all your fans we tend to get a few strange calls now and then,” laughed Winnifred. “Roger! Phone for you! It’s John!”

John held his breath as he heard Winnifred hand the phone over to Roger and heard Roger thank her for it. Just that little whisper of his voice sent shivers up John’s spine. He hadn’t heard it in ages.

“Reid, look, I know I haven’t been in the studio much as of late but I needed a break to get back on my game, and I’ll be—”

“Different John,” interrupted John.

“Deaky?” whispered Roger after a long pause.

“Hi, Rog,” replied John.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Freddie told me you were in Truro, I figured…” said John, his heart pounding out of his chest at the mere sound of Roger’s voice.

Roger sucked his teeth. “I ask him for one fucking favour.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” said John.

“Are you okay?” said Roger.

“I’m fine—I’m drunk but I’m fine,” said John as he took another sip of his bourbon.

“You sound drunk.” They stayed still for a moment, neither breathing neither speaking, just hoping the next words that came to them were profound. Roger broke the silence with, “are you alone?”

John nodded and muttered a yes. “Everyone’s gone away and they won’t say if they’re coming back.”

“What’re you talking about?” said Roger, his tone gentle.

“Ronnie left. Took Robert. Haven’t been back in two weeks, coming up on three,” sighed John into the phone.

“That’s how long I’ve been gone…” said Roger. “God, John. I’m so sorry, I left to avoid something like this happening. I never should’ve told you, I never should’ve said anything. I never should’ve let you…do anything.”

“Rog, it was a mutual…thing,” said John when he forgot the word ‘decision’. “After I told her how I felt about you we decided we needed to…That she ought to leave for awhile or…something. I can’t remember.”

“How you felt about me?” said Roger, quiet and careful.

John laughed. “Yes, how I feel about you.”

“And how…do you feel?”

John downed the rest of his bourbon and laughed into the receiver. “It’s obvious. It was to Ronnie too. To everyone, I don’t know why I pretended I wasn’t in love. I don’t know who I thought I was fooling.”

“Fooled me,” said Roger. “Do you mean it, John, you mean all this?”

John nodded, the phone pressed too close to his face. “Mm.”

“John, I’m on the kitchen phone, let me switch to the one in the office—” began Roger.

“Oh God!” interjected John. “God! You’re at home! You’re—I was supposed to leave you alone and let you sort this out and I—What the hell am I doing?”

“John—John—John just let me switch phones and we can talk—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I never should’ve called, this was a bad idea—Pretend I never called, pretend I left you alone. I’m sorry,” said John before slamming the receiver down. He then picked it back up immediately and dialed for Freddie.

Freddie let the phone ring far too long, or maybe John’s anxiety and lack of sobriety made it feel longer.

“Hello?” said Freddie, his voice groggy.

“Fred.”

“Deaks, I’m trying to nap.”

“I called Roger.”

“Fuck…” murmured Freddie. “What did you say?”

“I told him I love him and hung up,” said John.

“Fuck…” Freddie groaned as he sat up. “Okay well…you’re still drunk I’m sure so…mistakes happen. He won’t hold it against you. We may have to wait another day or two for him to come back but…it’ll be okay.”

“I fucked this up, Fred, I can’t stop fucking this up,” whined John.

“Nothing’s fucked up. I mean it.” Freddie’s voice was even and calm. John stayed silent and rubbed away the tears forming in his eyes. “John, do you need me to come over?”

“No, no,” said John quickly. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll put shoes on and run if I have to, John. I don’t mind, it’ll be a little excitement,” said Freddie. John could hear him shuffling around on the other end of the phone.

“No no, Fred, it’s okay,” said John as reassuringly as he could.

“You’re sure?” sighed Freddie. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

“I think…I want me to be alone,” said John with an awkward laugh.

“You’ve been alone for weeks,” said Freddie with an equally awkward laugh.

“You live alone too.”

“By choice,” added Freddie.

John rolled his eyes and he could tell Freddie knew he did. “I think I might be able to make some use of the alone time right now, though.”

“You promise me?” said Freddie, earnest and concerned.

“I swear. I’ll call you first if I need anything.”

“Cross you heart.”

“Cross my heart,” said John, a smile spreading across his face, “now go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

“Sleep is overrated anyway. Goodnight, John,” hummed Freddie, already falling back asleep no doubt.

“Night, Fred.”

John hung the phone up first and stood. The bourbon hit him a little stronger when he did. He wanted to run himself a bath but previous attempts at a drunken bath ended in disaster so he decided on a shower. He stayed under the lukewarm water for ages, letting the streams of water work out the tension in his muscles. He only got out when he used up all the hot water.

He put on the big bathrobe Freddie bought him a few years back for Christmas. He usually hated being in a robe rather than just getting dressed but it felt right in the moment. The shower had him thinking a bit more clearly. He made himself a shoddy bachelor’s dinner and ate it outside on the porch. He went inside when the sun set. He did all the washing up without breaking a single dish. The beers, the bourbon caught a second wind and overcame him with sleepiness. He slunk up to his and Veronica’s bedroom and threw on pyjamas. He was asleep before he hit the sheets.

 

~~~

 

A bang woke him. He sat up, not tipsy but not yet hungover. The alarm clock next to him read 12:30. How he’d fallen asleep before midnight was a mystery to him. He laid awake for a few silent moments, wondering if he’d dreamed the loud bang, when he heard it again. And again, and again, and again, and again.

His sleepy mind tried to find excuses for him to go back to sleep but the banging wouldn’t stop. He padded out of his room and listened. And realised it was a fist banging on his front door. He might’ve been more concerned about someone banging on his door in the middle of the night had he been more awake, had Veronica and Robert been home, had he owned anything of value. But in his lonely, sleepy state he didn’t give a shit who might be at the door.

“Who is it?” said John to his front door.

“Oh thank God,” sighed Roger on the other side.

“Roger?” said John, his hand poised on the chain lock.

“Open the fuckin’ door, would you,” said Roger with a laugh.

John opened the door. Suddenly sheepish to be in his pyjamas, his hair no doubt a mess, his face probably covered with indents from his sheets. He tried to tame his hair as the door swung open but there was no fixing it before Roger saw. He looked as put together as always. Not a hair out of place, though a bit of red in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” said John.

“Deaky, you can’t call me like that, hang up, and then not answer the phone for over an hour,” laughed Roger, tears starting to prick his eyes. “I thought you’d passed out and choked on your own vomit or something equally horrible.”

“Oh…Oh, God, I’m sorry,” said John. He stepped to the side and let Roger in. “I was in the shower for a long while I must’ve missed your calls.”

“It’s alright,” said Roger. “I would’ve come anyway.”

“Why?” said John.

Roger laughed. It’d been so fucking long since John heard that laugh. “You remember calling me right?”

“Yes,” John blushed, “but…What I said…Roger—”

“Please don’t take it back,” sighed Roger, his shoulders back and low in defeat.

“You don’t…want me to take it back?” said John, cautiously. Roger put his hands on John’s shoulders and shook his head. “What about the good of the band, and our friendship and…”

“John I wasn’t going to risk the band and our friendship while you were committed to your wife and wanted nothing to do with it all. If you had no interest in me, I needed to move on. That’s why I left, because you kept choosing her over me. But…” Roger took a half step into John, “that’s not the case anymore is it?”

“It’s not,” mumbled John. “But you’re not worried about…Queen and…”

“I’d rather have you than Queen,” said Roger flatly. He smirked when he ran his fingers through John’s mussed hair.

“This is our livelihood, Rog, everything we’ve worked for. Not to mention our friendship,” said John. “I don’t want to lose any of it.”

“I can’t live without you, without any of you. If we try it and it doesn’t work, I _know_ our friendship will be okay and the band will be okay,” said Roger. He wrapped an arm around John’s waist.

“You don’t _know_ that,” said John quietly.

“No, I don’t,” replied Roger before pressing their lips together. John could feel a shake in Roger, an anxiety he’d never felt in him before. It was comforting in a way.

John wrapped his arms around Roger, not caring where he held him just wanting him closer. Roger pulled him in, tighter and closer and the confidence John normally felt from him mixed with that tinge of nerves. Roger pulled back just enough to kiss down John’s jaw, down his neck, before settling there to leave a mark.

“Rog,” sighed John.

Roger hummed in response and pulled back to meet his eyes, a classic grin of his spreading across his face. “Do you have lube?”

John could feel the blush creep onto his cheeks when he nodded. Roger followed behind him up to the bedroom. John rifled through their sidetable drawers until he found what he was looking for. Roger descended on him when he did. Kissing wherever he could as he settled on top of John on his bed.

“Feels familiar,” laughed John as he watched Roger throw his own belt halfway across the room. John reached up to help him unbutton his shirt, but Roger swatted his hands away and tugged it off over his head. As impatient as ever, but endearingly so. Roger kissed up his chest, rucking John’s shirt up as he went before he finally tugged it off. His pyjama bottoms came next. He kicked them off while Roger pulled them off, both groaning with frustration and both considering just ripping them off.

Roger began trailing kisses down John’s chest, getting lower and lower until John stopped him.

“What’s wrong?” said Roger, a nervous smile on his face. “You liked it last time right?”

“Please, just fuck me,” said John, the blush on his face searing.

Roger didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers stretched John while his mouth distracted him from the uncomfortable burn. John panted against Roger’s cheek, clawed at his back and quietly, almost inaudibly begged him to put it in. Roger practically growled in his ear and eagerly but slowly pushed in. John clawed his back harder, knowing he’d leave marks, and Roger damn near whimpered. Once he was fully seated in John he took a deep, shaky breath.

“You feel so much better than I remember,” choked Roger.

“So do you,” replied John, his voice more even than he expected.

“I’ll go slow,” groaned Roger, “even if it kills me.”

John’s laughing gave way to stifled moans when Roger moved. John held onto him for dear life, his legs locked behind his hips, his nails digging into his back. And when John asked for more Roger gave it to him, and more and more and more. His hand reached between them to stroke John whose breath caught in his throat. For a brief moment he stared in Roger’s eyes. And Roger stared back. And though John had no idea what expression he wore, Roger was quick to end that moment with a kiss, a deep grounding kiss that John was sad to break.

“I’m gonna come,” sighed John into Roger’s ear.

“Good,” replied Roger. His hand sped up and his thrusts got just that little bit deeper. John swore he drew blood from Roger’s shoulder with his nails when he finally came but Roger didn’t acknowledge it. He fucked John through it and kissed him raw. And then inevitably he sped up, hoping to get his own release.

“I’m close,” said Roger as he mouthed lazily at John’s jaw. “Fuck, John, where do you want it?”

“In me,” said John without thinking. “In me.”

Roger whimpered when he came, high pitched and vulnerable. His whole body shuddered and he held onto John for dear life. John held him right back and coaxed him through the oversensitivity. Once most of the residual shudders were through, Roger brushed the sweaty strands of hair from John’s forehead.

“You look gorgeous like this,” whispered Roger.

“Like what?” said John.

“Thoroughly fucked. It suits you,” said Roger.

“Make me look like this more often then,” replied John. Roger grinned and leaned down just enough to press a kiss to his lips. Light and innocent, a stark contrast to how they’d been moments before. Roger pulled out and flopped on the bed next to him. Roger reached for and found his still-buttoned shirt and used it to clean the mess on John’s chest. Once he was done, he balled the shirt up and threw it halfway across the room lazily. John instinctively rolled over and rested his head on Roger’s shoulder. Roger wrapped both arms around John and held him as tight as he could.

“I’m gonna fall back asleep,” said John under his breath.

“Me too,” said Roger.

“I love you,” mumbled John.

“Me too,” said Roger.

 

~~~

 

The phone ringing woke John the next morning. He had no idea what time it was, and if pressed couldn’t tell what day it was, he was just dying to stop the ringing. He reach over his side table to grab the receiver.

“Hello?”

“John, it’s me.”

“Oh, hi Ronnie. What time is it?”

“About ten thirty. Have I just woken you up?” said Veronica with a laugh.

“Afraid so,” laughed John. “Without your call I might’ve slept til noon.”

“Well you’re very welcome then,” said Veronica. “I was calling because I thought we ought to meet. I’m not ready to come home but we’ve been in limbo too long, I really want to sort some of this out with you. Officially.”

“Oh…Okay, of course. When? And where?”

“I’m taking Robert for a check up, I’ll call back after with a better plan but how’s the day after tomorrow sound?”

“Sounds just fine, yeah.”

“Okay…Okay,” said Veronica, her voice beginning to trail. “Okay, well I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

John put the phone back on the hook and relaxed into the bed again. It would take a lot more than a phone ringing and conversation to wake Roger, he only stirred when John laid back down. Roger’s eyes opened slowly, but once he took in the visual of John he sat bolt upright. John’s eyes raked across Roger’s marked up back. He looked like he’d been attacked. Though Roger seemed entirely unaware of the scratches and crescent-shaped bruises. He was more focused on staring straight ahead and breathing a little too deeply.

“Rog, you alright?” said John. “You’re not about to run again are you?”

Roger rubbed his face and shook his head. “I just forgot I slept over here. I was expecting wake up Truro, not…”

He turned to look at John, his face breaking out in a soft smile. John pulled him down onto his chest where he got comfortable. He pressed kisses to his chest and hummed when John started playing with his hair.

“This is more fun when you don’t freak out and leave,” laughed John.

“The day is young,” laughed Roger in response. “Should we let Fred and Brian know we can come back to the studio?”

“I have to meet Ronnie,” sighed John.

“For what?” said Roger into John’s chest.

“She’s not coming home yet but she wants to figure out what happens when she does,” said John. “I don’t want to have to worry about the studio then.”

“She’s not taking you back is she?” said Roger. He sat up just enough to look John in the eye. “I can’t do this if she’s—”

“It’s you, Rog. I’m choosing you. No matter what she says, I want you,” said John. Roger didn’t look terribly reassured but he did rest his head on John’s chest again. “I love you.”

“She has your baby, it’s not so cut and dry,” sighed Roger.

“ _We_ have _our_ baby. We’re a team but we don’t have to be a couple. She knows that better than anyone.”

“I know,” said Roger, “I’m just so close to having you I don’t want to lose you.”

“You already have me,” said John, his fingers trailing over the marks on his shoulders.

“Not yet…not until you sort it out with Ronnie.”

“Okay, in two days you have me.”

“Two days,” muttered Roger.

John made them breakfast and Roger bothered him the entire time by singing too much or standing too close or insisting he could help. And John loved every second of it. He finally shut up and focused on his eggs once John scooted them out of the pan and on to his plate.

The plan was for Roger to head back to Truro and collect everything he left in his rush to leave. It wasn’t a short drive so he figured he ought to stay and entertain his mother for as long as she wanted while John sorted things out with Ronnie and they’d be back in the studio the following Monday. It sounded easy on paper but there were enormous hurdles to get over before Monday came. But being able to kiss Roger goodbye made it worth it.

 

~~~

 

John got to the little cafe Veronica chose about forty-five minutes early. He hadn’t meant to and the wait staff had recognised him when he walked in. He was on his fourth coffee, jittery from the caffeine and the eyes all on him as the staff pointed him out to each other and customers. But thankfully no one asked him for anything, no one even waved. They let him be jittery and anxious for the entire forty-five minutes he spent alone in the corner booth waiting for Veronica.

She came in right on time, spotted John and pushed the pram over to meet him. Despite it all his heart still fluttered when he saw her. He hugged her hello, a tight, desperate hug that she reciprocated, before he pulled Robert from his stroller and kissed him hello.

“He’s missed you,” said Veronica. “I can tell.”

“I’ve missed him,” said John. “How’s everything? How’ve you both been?”

“We talk every day, John, you know how we’ve been,” said Veronica with a smile. “We’ve both missed you.”

“Being alone in that house…” began John, his voice trailing. “I’m just glad to see you both.”

Robert grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and tugged, John winced and Veronica giggled and reached across the table to take a sip of John’s coffee.

“So, let’s get to it.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, warming them and giving herself some kind of comfort. “We’re…splitting aren’t we?”

“I think…so,” said John.

Veronica nodded. “I wanted to double check we were on the same page since we haven’t been lately. Don’t worry I won’t cause a scene, I’m all cried out.”

“I didn’t think you’d—you can cry—” began John but Veronica just waved his words away.

“So…the logistics.” She took a deep, shaky breath and shook the anxiety out of her trembling hands. “We’re a team. And we don’t have to be married to stay a team. I want Robert to know us both and to know us together. I want us to raise him together, like we thought we would.”

“I want that too,” said John, an anxious smile creeping onto his face. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was proposing but it sounded good so far.

“So we’ll divorce,” her voice shook, “but we’re still us, we’re still his parents. Together. We can stay close, live side by side even, so Robert doesn’t feel like he’s got two different families.”

“I’d like that,” said John. She mirrored the smile on his face. There was a look of relief on her face and the trembling in her hand subsided when John reached across the table to hold it.

“Do you think Roger’ll be okay with it?” said Veronica.

“Okay with what?” said John, his cheeks getting hotter.

“Okay with me…being around still?”

“You’re the mother of my son, he’s not going to object to you staying in my life.” John watched her stir his mug of coffee and couldn’t help filling the silence. “He’s a good person, Ronnie. I know these circumstances are less than ideal but it’s not his fault.”

“I didn’t say it was,” said Veronica before taking another sip. She ran her thumb across the back of John’s hand. “This isn’t black and white, I won’t pretend it is and…if it weren’t Roger it’d be someone else. This is just something you’ve got to do I guess.”

“If I would’ve thought I’d end up like this I…” John sighed. He didn’t want to finish the thought, but he could tell Veronica had already filled in the blanks on her own.

“I don’t regret it, John. Not a minute of it. Look what it gave us,” she nodded to Robert. “Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t feel guilty. Life gave us a few fantastic years together and a perfect son. That’s more than most people get, and it’s not the end of our story.”

“I’m glad I know you,” said John after a few heavy beats of silence, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad too,” she squeezed his hand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to order something. My sister’s on some horrible crash diet and I haven’t had normal food all month.”

The talked for a few hours after that. Most of it catching up on the mundane chit chat they hadn’t had with each other in nearly a month, but some of it about the nuts and bolts how exactly they’d separate. Veronica suggested they rent the townhouse next to their old one, John in one Veronica in the other, and try to live as neighbours. It meant Robert would have a better sense of home. And if it didn’t work long term at least they would have each other for help during Robert’s early years.

It was an idea, even if it proved to be a bad one or a fruitless one. A show of effort on both of their accounts to stay as close and supportive of each other as they’d always been and that mattered more to John than Veronica’s actual address.

 

~~~

 

They began the slow process of marking off who got what by putting notes on what they wanted. Neither of them had come into the marriage owning much of anything so gifts from Veronica’s parents went to Veronica and gifts from Freddie, Brian, and Roger went to John. They hadn’t bought anything of real value while they were together so they split it based on sentimental value.

It took a few days to sort it out and by the time Monday came, she was back with her sister. John told her all about the time off in the studio and the now pressing issue of their upcoming album, so she agreed she’d look into the divorce proceedings with her time off while John recorded.

When Veronica drove back to her sister’s Sunday night and John saw her off it felt lighter, easier than the first time she left. It felt less permanent and more like the transition it was. Veronica wasn’t leaving, he wasn’t losing her, things were just changing and for the better. A weight was lifted off his chest. The house didn’t feel so empty in her absence and his heart didn’t feel so heavy.

But she still had the car. So, when Monday morning came, John heaved himself out of bed twenty minutes early and tried to remember the trains he’d have to take to get to the studio. By the time he actually arrived, he was coming up on thirty minutes late. He let himself in and heard nothing but the sound of Roger hitting his drums far harder than he needed to. John let himself into the booth and gave a quiet hello to the engineer who tiredly trying to mix Roger’s drumming.

“Roger, please, you’ll burst the drum head,” groaned the engineer into the mic.

Roger looked up, angry and ready to tell off the engineer, but he paused, and he softened when he saw John. And John did the same.

“Take a break, he won’t listen to anyone when he’s like this. No sense in you having to suffer,” said John to the engineer who didn’t need to be told twice. He chucked his headphones onto the soundboards and stormed out in a huff. John made a face at Roger through the glass and sat in the empty chair. He pressed down the button for the mic on his end. “He’s right, you were drumming too hard.”

“You’re late,” replied Roger.

“I had to take the trains,” said John with a shrug. “Besides, I made it before Freddie.”

“Well, you could’ve said.” Roger’s voice trailed off.

“I could’ve,” said John. There was heaps and heaps he wanted to tell Roger. Every detail of the last few days spent with Veronica. The decisions they’d come to and the ideas they had moving forward. But none of those came out. He just stared at Roger and Roger stared back.

“Run the playback, I guess,” said Roger after a pause of deafening silence. John nodded his head and did as he was asked.

John listened to Roger’s immaculate, if intense, drumming through the headphones. Roger, said nothing. He let the tape run and recorded whatever song he was working on over and over. John was lulled into the rhythm and lost track of where exactly the song began and ended.

“Morning!” said Freddie as he burst into the booth. He shoved John’s chair away from the microphone and held the button down to speak. “Hello Roger, haven’t seen your sorry arse in weeks.”

“Hello Freddie,” said Roger with a barely-hidden grin.

“We’ve got serious work to do, Rog, none of this repetitive shit. Practise on your own time, Darling, we’re here to _record_.”

“I know I know, I’m getting it _perfect_ ,” laughed Roger. Freddie rolled his eyes and motioned with his hand for Roger to continue playing. He then turned to face John. “And hello to you.”

“Hello,” said John.

“So,” Freddie took a step back and sat on the couch pressed to the wall. He urged John to join him but John only rolled his chair closer. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Deacon. Roger called me two nights ago said it was sorted and we could record. He absolutely refused to give me any other details but I feel entitled to them at this point,” said Freddie with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s all sorted,” said John, a grin plastered across his face. “He’s on edge right now I think but, it’s all fine. Good. It’s good.”

Freddie grinned back. “Well, I know what that means.”

The door flew open again, this time Brian was on the other side.

“He’s still running the same fuckin—Oh, hi John,” said Brian.

“I didn’t tell you,” said Freddie, he leaned closer to John, “but Brian and I have gotten some of our recording done without you two. We would’ve invited you but you needed time off I think. So if you wouldn’t mind heading off to record your basslines, that would be terrific.”

“Oh right, so we’re recording separately?” said John.

“To get at least the base of it in,” said Brian. “We just need something to show for the past month of inactivity, even if all we get is demo-quality at least there’s proof we’re working.”

“If you wouldn’t mind…there’s a free recording booth across the hall,” said Freddie not so subtly.

John went across the hall and Brian followed. He prompted John for what song he was meant to play and stopped the playback if and when he fucked it up. And he fucked up often. It was the month of not practising sure, but it was also the elephant he left in the room with Roger. He had so much to tell him, so much he wanted say and so much he knew Roger wanted to hear. Suddenly the time it took them to record their portions of the songs felt like an eternity.

John felt like he’d been released from prison when Brian’s voice crackled over the speakers and told him to take a lunch break. He and Freddie would take a stab at mixing the separate pieces of the songs to see if they were viable before working Roger and John any harder. John’s sore fingers thanked him before he wandered into the hall and meandered down to the break room.

It never had more than coffee and sandwiches but the idea of going into town and getting swarmed by fans made the sandwiches and stale coffee look gourmet. The stale coffee pot was occupied by Roger who poured the last of it in a mug. John silently watched the way he stirred in two sugars. There was something calming about the domesticity of it, something that reminded him of when they made breakfast together. Something he’d sincerely missed.

“Oh fuck,” mutter Roger when he nearly dropped his mug, “you really crept up on me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” said John sheepishly. “How’d the recording with Freddie go?”

“Demanding as ever,” said Roger with a shrug. “Demanding but he doesn’t know what he wants exactly, it’s a great combination.”

“Brian’s not much better,” said John. “We’re going to end up having to record these together anyway. I don’t see the point in this.”

“Well, we did leave for awhile. They don’t want to feel like they wasted their time while they were in the studio,” said Roger mostly into his mug.

“Yeah…we did leave for awhile.” John eyed Roger who refused to look at him. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to talk about it here and now. But he found he didn’t care about that. He’d spent enough time holding back and worrying about Roger’s reactions. “So we’re getting a divorce.”

Roger’s eyes went wide as he choked on his coffee. John moved to offer some help but Roger choked out an ‘I’m fine’. He put the mug down and coughed for a good thirty seconds before finally looking John in the eye again.

“So it’s official?” said Roger through a cough. “It’s done?”

“The divorce isn’t official, that takes awhile,” laughed John a bit awkwardly. There was a tension in the air he couldn’t identify. It almost felt like second thoughts. “But we’re split. Romantically anyway. We still have Robert, and we’re still friends but…”

“So it’s done?” said Roger, a grin creeping onto his face.

“Yes, it’s done,” said John.

John could’ve sworn he saw his eyes water, he could’ve sworn. But Roger crossed the room to fast for him to double check. In one motion he cupped John’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. A deep, aching kiss that would’ve embarrassed them both if they were caught. But neither cared in that moment. John melted into him, Roger’s arm around his waist doing more to support him than his own feet.

He couldn’t help but be disappointed when Roger pulled away, but he was glad to see Roger’s blushing cheeks. Roger might’ve said something, might’ve spoken but Freddie called for them both. Though he hadn’t actually appeared in the doorway, they both reflexively jumped away from each other when they heard his voice.

“Boys! We’re doing the back tracks, at very least we need Rog,” said Freddie somewhere down the hall.

“That’s me,” said Roger. He stared at John for a few strange beats of silence before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and leaving to meet Freddie.

John watched the three of them sing the backing vocals for about a half hour before heading across the studio to nail down some of his bass lines that he hadn’t quite perfected with Brian breathing down his neck. Out of the countless runs he did, he got three perfect recordings and was ready to call that grounds for another break.

“You were good,” said Roger’s voice over the speakers. John looked up and scanned the booth looking for the engineer he’d been working with who was nowhere to be found. And though he couldn’t help grin when he saw Roger, he was concerned about the quality of his last recording now, knowing that Roger was relatively useless on that side of the booth.

“I know I was good,” said John into his bass mic. “Did you three nail the vocals?”

“For the most part I think,” said Roger. “How about you?”

“Did alright,” said John with a shrug.

“So, Deaks,” Roger cleared his throat, “do you want dinner?”

John cocked his head and checked his watch. “It’s only four. But you and Freddie both have such great appetites, I bet he’d want to eat.”

“No,” groaned Roger, “I meant you and me. Like a date. Well not _like_ a date, _a date_.”

“You’re asking me out over the booth mic?” said John into his bass.

“See this way if you say no theres sound proof glass protecting my dignity,” laughed Roger.

“Why the hell would I say no?”

“You haven’t exactly said yes,” replied Roger half laughing half nervous.

“Yes, let’s go to dinner,” said John failing to disguise the laugh in his voice.

Roger clicked the mic button on and off and on and off, never saying a word. John smiled and waited patiently while Roger collected his thoughts. But he eventually gave up left the booth and shoved his way into the recording booth with John. He let his bass hang from his shoulders and waited for Roger to stride across the room and pull him into a searing kiss. But he only took a few cautious steps into the room.

“You’re sure, right?” said Roger, all the confidence draining from his body.

“Oh for christ’s sake,” muttered John as he set his bass down with less care than he should’ve and took the few steps to meet Roger. He rested a hand on his face and ran his thumb of his cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

Roger smiled wide and toothy before he closed the gap between them. This time he was slower, gentler and John clung to him like his life depended on it. Having Roger in his arms now felt more real. Before there was the looming threat of Veronica finding out or Roger not reciprocating his feelings, but with all of that behind them he could just let himself enjoy how Roger felt wrapped around him. Every little thing that made Roger so distinctive, he could finally let himself sink into it all wth no guilt or shame. It felt like heaven.

“Yes, we get it, you’re very in love,” crackled Freddie’s voice over the speakers. Roger pulled away, looking almost dazed, although didn’t let go of John. Freddie waved at them from the other side of the glass. “We need Roger back for the vocals, please fuck on your own time.”

“We weren’t going to—” began John.

“Will do, Fred,” laughed Roger.

Freddie rolled his eyes but left the booth with a grin on his face. Once he saw the door to the booth close behind Freddie, John turned to Roger.

Roger looked him up and down and muttered, “they can wait,” before pulling John in again. A tighter hold, a deeper kiss, and John’s heart beating out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's read this! I had a lot of fun writing it and I'm excited to write a new one (so if anyone has different ships/tropes they want to see definitely let me know!). I'm considering doing an epilogue for this fic, like a little time skip, let me know if anyone would be interested in that. But otherwise, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have!


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! So this it the epilogue I said I might write and I have! It's a bit sappy but oh well! I really liked writing for their family dynamic so I couldn't help but indulge a little bit. Anyway, comment if you like and let me know if there's anything specific you'd like me to write because I'm sort of completely open right now and even considering another epilogue for this but set a bit further in the future, who knows! Also just to clarify this is set in about 1980 so about four/four and a half years after the last chapter :)
> 
> Also just an addition, I wish I could like "like" all of your comments because I can't always reply to them all, but I love reading them so much even when they're just one or two words!! They make me so happy thank you everyone for leaving them !!!

“I don’t know,” sighed John. “I feel stupid getting a man a ring.”

“It’s not stupid,” said Freddie, “you got one for Veronica.”

“I know I know.” John worked up the courage to go to the jeweler’s with Freddie, but as he ran his fingers across the glass cases, he lost his nerve. Which was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous and he knew Freddie was getting frustrated with it.

Marriage was the next logical step. Actually it was a logical step a few years ago. In fact John might’ve already proposed had Veronica not done it first. A year after their separation, Veronica sat the both of them down and announced she wanted Robert to have a sibling. Roger said yes before John could even process the idea. But he wanted that too. It was no secret that their parenting situation, their living situation, was strange and going to be an adjustment for Robert as he got older. But they could handle it, he knew they could handle it and Robert had been waiting for them to ‘buy his new brother’ for months. That, paired with the myriad of reasons they all wanted another child made it an easy yes.

Veronica living next door made the pregnancy easy to keep up with. Roger was much a mother hen to her and though John wasn’t fully confident he’d stick around to help raise Michael, his suggestion for them to have Laura made him positive he’d never leave.

That’s when John was sure. When he was taking pictures of Roger and Veronica in the hospital, Roger holding Laura, barely minutes old, tears in his eyes and the biggest smile he’d ever seen on him. He would’ve proposed right then in the hospital. But he wanted things to settle down, wanted some normalcy to be established before he kicked it all up again.

And so there he was, in a jeweler’s that Freddie promised would be discreet. He wanted to propose, he wanted to marry Roger. But a ring?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Deaky! It’s just a ring!” laughed Freddie.

“It’s not just a ring!” bit back John.

Freddie huffed somewhere behind John while John focused on scanning the plain silver bands, trying to spot the difference between them. Freddie sidled up and put both hands on his shoulders, massaging small circles into his tense muscles.

“It’s not just a ring, I know,” said Freddie. “What I meant was, the ring isn’t important, it’s what the ring means.”

“If you were saying that to Roger about a ring he were buying for me it would apply,” said John. “I’m buying jewelry for _Roger_. You know how picky he is. I don’t want him to have to live with a ring he hates just because I’m the one that gave it to him.”

Freddie looked like he was going to say something. In fact he started saying something but he spoke too softly for John to hear.

“Okay!” screamed Freddie suddenly, clearly gathering his frustrations and shoving them down for John’s sake. “Okay, John. Roger and I have the same taste. If I’d want it, so will he.”

“You’re sure?” said John.

“Yes, now, start offering me jewelry.” Freddie held out his hand for John to take. He scoffed and rolled his eyes but Freddie knew how appreciative he was.

After Freddie helped him spot the difference between the simple silver bands, they found the perfect one and wrapped it up. The lie John told Roger about his whereabouts was brunch with Freddie so it was easy for Freddie to convince John to actually have brunch with him.

“I can’t wait to plan the wedding,” sighed Freddie romantically. “It’s going to be such an event!”

“Not so loud,” warned John.

“Oh come off it,” said Freddie with a wave of his hand. “You’re marrying the man, the public’s bound to find out eventually.”

“We don’t know he’ll say yes,” said John.

“Right,” laughed Freddie. “He’s three children into this relationship, Deaks. He’s not going to say no.”

“Well…” trailed John.

“I have it on good authority he won’t say no,” said Freddie.

“What?” laughed John. “What does that mean? Did you tell him I was going to propose?”

“No no no!” Freddie caught that train of thought before it left the station. “He has _no idea_ you’re proposing. I swear on my mother. I just…I wouldn’t worry about what he’ll say.”

“Ronnie said the same thing,” groaned John. He rested his head in his hand and stared at nothing in particular. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

“Nervous or excited?” said Freddie.

John smirked. “Maybe that’s it. Excitement.”

“So give me the plan again,” said Freddie, tapping John’s menu to get his attention.

John rubbed his face and grinned at the giddiness the idea of his plan gave him. “You know the plan Fred, it’s our first date all over again.”

“Yes, but regale me with it,” prompted Freddie.

“The restaurant we had dinner in, then walking through the park, and ending at that spot by the Thames.” John read over his menu briefly, then slammed it down. “It’s not flashy enough is it?”

“What?” said Freddie, mid-sip.

“This is not a Roger proposal, Fred. Oh fuck—Freddie, it’s _Roger_. He doesn’t do simple, I can’t propose to him with no bells and whistles—”

“Shut up!” said Freddie sharply. “Stop!”

“Freddie,” whined John.

“John, it’s lovely. It’s a lovely little proposal—”

“Little! Little is what you say when something’s not enough!” cried John. The anxiety bubbled up in him and threatened to take him over. Freddie noticed and reached across the table to grab both of his hands.

“John!” laughed Freddie, shaking his arms out. “Calm down! The proposal is perfect, it’s adorable, it’s going to be beautiful. Stop panicking.”

John took a forced deep breath and nodded. Freddie had talked him down from the tree multiple times in the weeks leading up to the proposal.

“So the uh…” said Freddie, “dinner is this Saturday?”

“Yes, Saturday at eight.”

“Are you free before then? Like Friday night?”

“Y—Oh…no, we’ve got a date actually,” said John through a laugh. “There’s a restaurant Roger’s been barking at me to try.”

“Oh okay,” said Freddie.

“Why?” asked John.

“Oh I was just curious. Album shit. I won’t bother you with it until you’re done with this. I don’t think your heart could take two things at once,” teased Freddie.

“It’s already taking two things,” sighed John. “Veronica said she has something to tell us but she’s waiting until after the proposal. Which means I can’t even speculate with Roger because then I’ll have to tell him why she’s waiting to tell us which I can’t do. But I think…well I’m pretty certain, she’s thinking of moving away.”

“Why would she move away?” laughed Freddie.

John shrugged. “I know it’ll be hard with all the kids but…maybe she’s tired of it? Maybe she’s fed up with the city or the neighbourhood or, hell, maybe she’s fed up with me?”

“Deaky, Darling,” said Freddie as gently as he could, “you’ve gone insane. Please dear, stop predicting the apocalypse. Everything will be fine. Roger’s going to say yes, and Veronica’s probably just thinking about switching schools or something equally manageable. Now eat your salad.”

 

~~~

 

“I just don’t get it I guess,” said Roger.

“You don’t have to understand it, you just don’t have to shit all over it,” huffed John.

They were sat in their back garden watching Robert try to communicate with his little brother. Michael spoke the occasional smattering of words but most of his talking was done through Robert who could almost telepathically interpret what he was trying to say. Laura was down for a nap. She was, by far, their easiest child so far.

“I didn’t shit all over it,” groaned Roger, tightening his hold around John’s shoulders.

“Yes you did,” said John trying to wriggle out of his grip. “You don’t have to like it, we don’t have to agree on everything, we don’t have to love or even like everything the other creates but you don’t have to…Forget it.”

“No, no,” said Roger, rubbing John’s arm. “Don’t ‘forget it’. I’m sorry.”

John turned to him, sizing him up, before he nestled back against his chest. “You’re not sorry.”

“ _I am_ ,” Roger kissed his head, “I’m not sorry for not liking the song. But Brian and I really ganged up on you, you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

“I know you know you’re right,” said Roger with a laugh. “I’m sorry, I mean it, Deaks. I don’t like the song, it sounds like…strange disco.”

“Yes, you said,” spat John.

“ _But,_ ” interrupted Roger, “you’ve disliked some of my stuff before and been more humane about it.”

“I have!”

“I know! I’m trying to apologise!”

“Well that sounded like sarcasm!”

“Well it wasn’t!” Roger groaned but his grip on John got tighter. “I love you and I respect you as a musician. And me disliking this song doesn’t change that.”

“Freddie likes it, that’s all I need,” teased John.

“You certainly gave his voice a workout with that one, he was belting,” laughed Roger. “ _Another one bites the dus-tahhh_.”

John couldn’t help snigger at Roger’s impression of Freddie’s singing. “There’s a reason I didn’t ask you to do the vocals on this one.”

“Ah, shut it,” laughed Roger. Robert, in the yard with Michael, knocked over the truck they had between them and rambled over to the two of them. “Here he comes.”

“What d’you need, deary?” said John.

“Michael wants Laura to play,” said Robert.

“Michael wants or you want?” said Roger.

“Can you just wake her up,” whined Robert.

“We’re not waking her up just so you can push her in that little truck of yours, she needs her sleep,” said Roger.

“But, but, Papa, Michael doesn’t fit anymore—” began Robert, starting to blubber.

“I know she looks hilarious flopping around in the little truck but she has to sleep or she’ll never get any taller,” said Roger as he ruffled Robert’s hair. Robert huffed back to Michael and tried to tame the hair Roger had just mussed up entirely. “He’s a menace to society.”

“You think so?” said John. “I think Michael’s going to be the real criminal.”

“Hey…John,” said Roger, his voice a little quieter. “Do you think they like me.”

“Who?” said John.

“The kids.”

John sat up to look at him, Roger kept his eyes on Robert and Michael. “Roger, what do you mean? Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” said Roger with an awkward laugh. “It’s just been on my mind lately. Whether or not they want me around forever.”

“Roger,” John rested a hand on his cheek, finally getting him to meet his eyes. “They call you ‘papa’. They want you—they expect you to be a part of their lives.”

“I hope so,” said Roger mostly to himself.

“We’re a family.” John held one of Roger’s hands and squeezed.

“Hmm,” said Roger.

“We are, even if it’s a little different.”

“I know…” said Roger, sounding a little defeated. He pulled John in for a kiss. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Is this about the other parents at that meeting?” said John. Roger looked almost ashamed of himself when he nodded. “Rog—”

“It’s stupid, Deaky, it’s childish.”

“Rog, it’s not stupid.”

“It is,” said Roger more forcefully. “We’re not normal, Deaks. These kids have three parents, and when three parents showed up to that orientation for Robert, I should’ve expected some looks.”

“They’ll get used to it,” said John, running a hand through his hair.

“Will they?” said Roger. “Honestly, John, will they? That whole afternoon was humiliating. ‘Who’s father are you’ ‘I’m Robert’s’ ‘oh but Robert’s father’s over there’, ‘I know, I’m his other father’. I swear I had that conversation ten times, it was as if those parents thought I’d escaped a mental institution and wanted to see what else I would say.”

“Roger, all three of us felt that way,” said John starting to massage his scalp.

“Yes, but you two are their real parents. You’re their dad, she’s their mum, and I’m their…”

“Dad,” finished John. Roger sighed. “Rog, I know it’s going to be hard for us and for you especially to explain this over and over to the parents in his class but…fuck them, Rog. They’ll get used to it and if they don’t, they don’t.”

Roger’s hand around John fell to his waist as he pulled him closer.

“Come on,” said John, “you’re Roger fucking Taylor. You can’t let one awkward parent’s meeting get under your skin this deep.”

Roger pulled him in for a kiss and held onto him tight. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“If nothing else we can offer free Queen tickets to any of the parents that’ll mind their fucking business.”

 

~~~

 

“John?! John! John!” called Roger up the stairway.

“Roger! Roger! Roger!” barked back John over his shoulder, he was already at the end of his rope for the day. Dinner at the swish new restaurant Roger was dying to go to meant John had to find something to wear that would, in a way, apologise for whatever atrocity Roger wore.

Before that he had to pack the kids up for their night at Veronica’s. They usually alternated weeks. It was easier and meant they stayed put longer. Though the trip between houses wasn’t exactly strenuous considering they shared a wall. Veronica’s week was starting early to accommodate their dinner plans which, considering Veronica knew about John’s proposal the following day, she didn’t mind.

“Deaky, seriously, we’ll be late!” called Roger up the stairs.

John couldn’t help but smile to himself when Roger used his nickname. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

He buckled Laura in her carrier, kissed her forehead, and hurried down the stairs to meet Roger who was stood in the foyer, grumpy. Michael in one hand, resting on his hip, and Robert holding his other hand.

“Come on, come on,” whined Roger, a hint of a smile on his face.

“If you keep whining, I’ll slow down,” said John.

Roger rolled his eyes and grumbled but the smile kept tugging at his cheeks. Roger hurried the five of them out the door and over to Veronica’s. She opened the door when she saw them through the window. Roger kissed her hello and let Robert wander in past their legs while she heaved Michael out of Roger’s arms.

“Sure you’re alright?” said John as he set Laura and her carrier down just inside the door.

“I’m positive,” said Veronica while Michael got fistful of her hair. “You’ll be late.”

“I tried to tell him,” said Roger. John replied with an over dramatic eye roll. “I’m pulling the car around. Call if you need us.”

Roger kissed her cheek goodbye and John swore she whispered something to him, though he couldn’t hear it. He hoped it was something to his borderline mood gone. He hurried off the steps and towards their driveway, warning John that he would eat dinner alone if need be. John scoffed and watched him go.

“Sorry to make you babysit two nights in a row on this kind of notice,” sighed John.

“John, I’m not some neighbourhood teenager. I’m one of three parents,” laughed Veronica.

Roger’s car honked behind him. John rolled his eyes and kissed Veronica goodbye.

“Have fun, let me know how it goes,” said Veronica.

“I’m proposing _tomorrow_ , Ronnie,” said John.

“Oh, right, of course. Well you’re still allowed to have fun,” said Veronica with a nervous laugh.

John cocked his head but didn’t have time to question her. Roger was already inching the car up the street, threatening to leave without him. He hurried and rushed to the passenger side door to let himself in.

“They won’t start without us,” said John as he slammed the car door shut.

“They might give away the table,” said Roger, already driving too fast.

“They won’t give away the table.”

Roger grumbled something to himself and John ignored it in favour of covering Roger’s hand on the gear shift with his own. Roger softened then and turned the radio on. There was nothing he loved as much as laughing at John’s attempts to sing and there was nothing John loved more than making him laugh.

Roger opened John’s car door at the valet, always one to make a show of it. And though they weren’t technically public with their relationship, the years and years of photos of them arm in arm in public ought to have given them away. And the few paparazzo shots of them locked in a kiss should’ve been the confirmation but without a public statement, their fans just didn’t want to believe it.

The restaurant itself was the exact amount of luxury John knew Roger would seek out. Ornate but modern. The lights were low and intimate. The clientele were rich enough that no one turned their heads when they walked in which was an added bonus. But even if they had been gawked at, Roger booked a private room, away from prying eyes. A waiter sat them and said the food would be out shortly before exiting.

“This place is swish,” whispered John across the table. “I feel like an imposter.”

“Oh, please,” said Roger, inspecting the bottle of wine left to chill at their side, “we’re too good for this place.”

John let out a rather unattractive laugh that Roger grinned at. “Why did the waiter say the food would be out? We didn’t order.”

“I uh,” Roger cleared his throat, “ordered ahead of time.”

“Why’s that? Don’t like that I eat my steak medium well instead of rare?” laughed John.

“No,” said Roger very seriously, “it’s a um…what’s the word…It’s a thing they do here.”

“Can you tell me what we’re having?”

“It’s all very experimental and strange. Lots of squid ink sauce and raw beef and vegetables shaped like other vegetables.”

John let out another ugly laugh which had Roger laughing just as hard. The waiter reentered only to pour their wine. He poured a sip for Roger who approved it before letting the waiter pour for John. John couldn’t help muttering ‘thank you’ after every little action the waiter performed. Roger started doing the same. They waited until they were alone again before speaking.

“He’s very good,” said John, “yanked the cork out of that bottle in one go.”

Roger rolled his eyes and raised his glass. John did the same.

“What’re we toasting to?” said John.

“Um,” said Roger, there was a slight tremor in his hand.

“You nervous?” teased John.

“No no,” laughed Roger, “I’ve just been starving myself all day for this food.”

“Then I hope it’s worth it.”

“To…” began Roger, holding his glass a little firmer and a little higher, “to you and me, Deaks.”

“To us?”

“To us!”

They clinked their glasses. The wine tasted expensive. John was no expert and neither was Roger but he knew cheap wine well and that was not cheap.

The appetizer was something in french. Roger knew more french than him but even he had no idea what they were eating. It was good and it was crunchy but gun to his head he had no idea what he’d just ingested. Their waiter was discreet and moved quickly. The main course was out before he could blink.

“One rare,” said the waiter as he set a steak down in front of Roger, “and one medium well, enjoy.”

“Just how I like it,” said John as the waiter left.

“I actually had to request steak ahead of time,” said Roger. “The chef here is too fancy for steak to be on the menu.”

“You specially ordered it?” said John. “What’s the point of coming here if you didn’t want to try new food?”

“The appetizer was new, the dessert will be new. But sometimes it’s nice to have a professional cook your steak,” said Roger with a nervous grin.

“Okay,” said John, not fully convinced. He started cutting into the steak and got a few bites in before Roger laid his silverware down with a loud clang against the plate. “You all right?”

“I can’t wait the whole night, I think I’m going to be sick,” said Roger.

“What?” said John. “You’re going to be sick?”

“Deaky…John,” said Roger, he reached across the table, took the fork out of John’s grip and held his hand, “The last four…ish years have been the best of my life. You make me happier than I ever thought I’d be. And now we’ve got this beautiful family that we’re raising together…I never knew how badly I needed love and commitment and a family until you gave it all to me. And John. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me,” Roger shuffled out of his chair and onto one knee. His shaking hands searched his pockets and pulled out a blue velvet box, “so, John Richard Deacon, will you marry me?”

“I…” John stared down at Roger, tears pricking his eyes and words evading him for one tense, nervous moment before, “yes, yes of course—yes!”

“Oh thank God, that was a long fucking pause,” said Roger. His hands were shaking even more now as he slid the silver band on John’s finger. He leaned up to kiss John deep and lovingly. John kissed back with equal fervor, holding Roger’s face in his hands and the tears he was fighting rolled down his cheeks.

“Did Freddie know?” said John. “Did Ronnie know?”

“Freddie helped me actually,” said Roger. “I told him to take you to brunch last week so Brian and I could go pick out a ring.”

“They knew, this whole time…” sighed John.

“I swore them to secrecy, don’t hold it against them.”

“It’s not that it’s…You know how tomorrow we’re having dinner at that restaurant we had our first date in?”

“Yes! I wanted to have dinner there but I didn’t think I could explain going twice in a row and I definitely couldn’t wait another entire week,” laughed Roger.

“Rog, I was going to propose tomorrow,” laughed John.

“No you weren’t,” said Roger, disbelief painted on his face.

“I was,” said John, unable to control the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not nearly as chichi as this place but that was the plan. Now I know why Freddie, the whole time, was _so sure_ you’d say yes.”

“Brian said the same thing while I was picking out your ring,” said Roger with a wheezing laugh. “And here I thought I was so slick.”

“So did I.” John held his hand out to admire his ring.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” said John, his eyes drifting from the ring back to Roger. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I know it’s not legal and it won’t be official but—”

“I don’t care. It’s as real as any other marriage as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m assuming Freddie’s already shown you his wedding binder?” said Roger.

“In depth,” said John.

“The paparazzi will have a hard time spinning a Freddie-designed wedding as us ‘being good friends’.”

“They printed that photo of you undoing my belt at one of our afterparties and still referred to us as ‘bandmates’. We’d have to publicly fuck before they believed it.”

“It’s not fair,” said Roger, downing the rest of his wine. “I spent my entire life telling people I wasn’t and now that I’m engaged to a man no one will believe me.”

“That’s karma,” said John.

The waiter cleared their plates and returned with dessert. It was on fire, that’s all John knew. Not aflame, it looked more like a sparkler. What it didn’t look like was edible.

“And some champers!” said Roger as the waiter was headed back out. “We’re celebrating!”

“We drove here,” laughed John.

“I’ll carry you home,” said Roger. “Now…do we blow out the fire before we eat this or is it…like part of the flavour?”

John finished off Roger’s drinks so he could drive home. The idea of leaving his car with a valet overnight was abhorrent to him. The car was brought around for them and met them as soon as they stepped foot into the cold air of the night. Roger tipped everyone far too much that night, John joked that he should’ve just given them early releases of their next album.

John shifted gears for Roger while they drove, and sang all the wrong notes while Roger harmonised. John draped an arm around Roger as they climbed the steps up to their door, Roger still humming the song from the radio in his ear.

As soon as the door shut, Roger was on him. He nipped and sucked his way up John’s neck and back down.

“All these years later and you’ve still got the sex drive of an eighteen year old,” laughed John in Roger’s ear.

“And you’ve still got the arse of an eighteen year old,” growled Roger.

John whimpered and clung to him a little tighter. “Where’re the kids.”

“Ronnie’s. You can be as loud as you want, Deacon.” Roger punctuated the thought with hard smack across John’s arse.

“Upstairs, upstairs,” whined John.

“Right here, right here,” replied Roger. John laughed and wriggled out of his grasp, running to the stairs with Roger hot on his heels. Roger caught the back of his shirt, and John gave in and let Roger pin him against the stairs. It wasn’t entirely comfortable but it was worth it to see the victorious grin on Roger’s face as he made his way up John’s body. “You may be taller but I’m faster.”

“I never said I was faster,” laughed John just before Roger’s lips met his. John wrapped his arms around Roger’s waist and pulled him in closer, bucking his hips up to meet him. Roger hummed and trailed a hand down John, light and gentle, until he moved between his legs, then his touch was firm and heavy.

“Already hard, Deaky,” laughed Roger into John’s mouth. He worked his belt open with one hand, pulled it out of John’s belt loops, and let it fall through the bannister railings.

“Right here?” whispered John.

“Right here,” said Roger. He down John’s chest as he threw open the buttons of his shirt. His lips lingered at John’s hip to leave a mark while he unbuttoned John’s trousers and tugged them down just enough to expose his cock which was embarrassingly hard considering how little he’d been touched. Roger stroked him once and stopped to hear him whine for more, which he did, right one cue. “What’s the magic word?”

“Come on, Rog, please,” begged John.

“Perfect.”

Roger breathed in deep before taking as much of John into his mouth as he could. John thrust up into his mouth and heard Roger try not to gag.

“Sorry, sorry,” said John trying to keep his voice even. Roger just hummed in response. John gripped his hair and tried to choke back his moans until he remembered they were alone. Roger only fed off the noise John made, he’d always loved hearing him and, with so many kids underfoot, that had turned into a real luxury. “Rog, Rog, I’m gonna come.”

Roger gripped his thighs tighter and got a very serious look on his face as he took John just that bit deeper, just that bit faster. John’s legs shook and his back arched up off the steps when he came down Roger’s throat. Roger’s mouth didn’t leave him until he shuddered with oversensitivity.

“Oh Rog, it’s been too long,” sighed John. Roger crawled up him and met his mouth.

“It’s my turn, Deaks, let’s get you to bed,” said Roger.

Roger chased him up the rest of the stairs into their bedroom. Roger stripped himself of his clothes in a hurry while John took off the remainder of his own. Roger kissed his lips, the apple of his cheeks, his temple, while his slick fingers opened John up. Roger looked deep into his eyes while he curled and stretched his fingers.

“Hows it feel?” whispered Roger. John whimpered. “That good huh.”

“Want you in me.”

Roger groaned deep and low when he entered John.

“You’re always bigger than I remember,” sighed John once Roger stilled. Roger grinned and thrust into him as deep as he could, John could only hold on for the ride.

Roger knew everything about him, everything he liked, every way to get him off. And while years ago, John was afraid Roger would get bored with that, he since found Roger loved it. He loved knowing exactly what John wanted before he ever asked for it. He loved hearing John, watching John, feeling him. No part of him was boring to Roger, and now he was sure he could never get boring in his eyes.

“I love you,” sighed John. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” groaned Roger. “I’m coming—John—I’m—“

Roger cut himself off with a strangled scream. His hips crashed against John, hard and deep but slow and shaky. John spilled over his own hand just watching Roger’s face. He was beautiful no matter what but especially beautiful in intimate moments like these.

He leaned down just enough to kiss John. John reached up and brushed the sweat-drenched strands of hair from Roger’s forehead.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” breathed John.

“You’re making me blush,” joked Roger. He pressed one last kiss to John’s forehead before slowly pulling out and flopping on the bed next to him.

“I’ll be right back,” said John. Roger murmured in response as John shuffled to the bathroom to rinse off all he could. He didn’t bother dressing when he came back in but he did start rummaging through his sock drawer.

“If you’re putting clothes on that means I need to put clothes on,” whined Roger in protest.

“I’m not putting clothes on,” replied John as his hand closed around the black velvet box that had been shoved under all of his socks for a week. He turned to Roger, took the few steps to their bed and kneeled at the bedside. Roger propped himself up on his elbow and grinned down at him. “Rog—”

“Yes,” said Roger.

“Let me finish,” laughed John. “Roger, it took us far too long but once we got together I realised you were and are the only person I want to be with. You make me happy in a way no one else can. I can’t imagine my life without you and I don’t want to.”

“Open the box,” said Roger.

John fought a smile and opened the box to let Roger gawk at the ring. “I love you more than you’ll ever know. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you, Roger Tay—“

“Say my whole name—“

“Will you, Roger Meadows Taylor Jr III Esquire of Truro, marry me?” said John.

“I do!” screamed Roger. He dove off the bed and tackled John, kissing his face and holding him tight, the ring and it’s box lost somewhere behind them.

“You say ‘I do’ at the actual wedding,” teased John.

“I don’t care,” said Roger as he pressed another kiss to John’s cheek. “Give me my ring.”

John pawed around carpet until his hand found the box. He plucked the ring from it’s satin bed and Roger sat up, holding his hand out waiting for it. Where John’s was more plain to match his style, Roger’s had a bit more detail to match his own.

“It’s beautiful, Deaky,” said Roger, on his knees, admiring it. He looked down at John, spread out on the floor. “I love you, Mr. Taylor.”

“And I love you Mr. Deacon.”

 

~~~

 

“Congratulations!” said Veronica when the two of them came to her door for Sunday night dinner. “I can finally stop pretending I don’t know anything.”

“You were very convincing,” said John. “And thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, come in, come in, the kids are asleep and the wine is open.”

Veronica led them to through to the kitchen where she poured three glasses of wine. She checked on the roast she had cooking in the oven and announced they had thirty more minutes before dinner was ready. She herded them into the living room and John stoked the fire for her.

Roger settled in the arm chair by the hearth, John sat next to him on the couch and Veronica sat across from them both on the coffee table and took a big swig of her wine. She looked tense already but her upright posture and her choice of seating made it that much more apparent.

“What was it…that you wanted to talk to us about?” said John.

“Oh we can wait until after dinner,” said Veronica.

“The suspense is going to kill me, Ronnie,” said Roger.

“You’re sure you don’t want dinner first—” began Veronica.

“We’re sure,” interrupted Roger and John in unison.

“Okay…well…you know how after Laura was born we all agreed she wasn’t the last?” said Veronica.

Roger carefully sipped his wine and eyed her suspiciously. John did much the same. They all knew they wanted another child, hell a few more children, why stop at just one more. So for Veronica to be pitching it as if it was a novel or controversial idea had them both curious and on their guard about what she was going to say next.

“Yes, I remember,” said John quietly.

“Well…about that,” said Veronica.

“You’re not having second thoughts are you?” said Roger, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

“No no, of course not,” assured Veronica. “I just…wanted to know what you both would think if—and this is just an idea feel free to say no but…what would you think if this time around…Roger was the donor?”

Veronica’s eyes darted between them as silence invaded in the room. Finally she settled on staring down Roger, hoping to squeeze a response, any response, out of him.

“Me?” said Roger, pointing to himself. “Me? Donate?”

“It was just an idea,” said Veronica defensively. “ John donated the first two times because I wanted him to help me parent, but John’s not the only one helping me parent anymore. I…actually was going to suggest this when we decided to have Laura but…”

“But what?” prompted John.

“Lost my nerve,” said Veronica with a shrug. A timer dinged in the kitchen, confusing all three of them. “I’ll go check on that, you two…discuss.”

Roger leaned forward in his chair to watch Veronica leave before turning to John with his eyes as big as saucers.

“Is she serious?” whispered Roger.

“You know she is,” said John. Roger looked away but his eyes were still enormous as he stared at the carpet. John reached and put a hand on Roger’s arm. “Rog, it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“I want to,” said Roger, “I just can’t believe _she_ wants to.”

“You can’t believe that?” laughed John.

“I know we’re all a team, but she was married to _you_ not me. I didn’t think she’d want to have _my_ kid,” said Roger, his grip on his wine glass almost tight enough to shatter it.

“I don’t think she sees it like that, I think it’s her having our baby, all three of us, and this time you’re the quarterback,” said John through a laugh. Roger laughed with him but his heart was in it, still too stunned and pensive.

“I can’t believe it, there’s going to be a little blond kid amongst all the brunettes,” laughed Roger, a grin spread across his face as he spoke. John reached for and held his hand. Roger squeezed back.

“Can I come back in?” said Veronica from the kitchen.

“Come in,” laughed John.

She reappeared in the doorway, her glass of wine a bit fuller. “Verdict?”

“It’s a yes,” said John, the grin still on his face. Roger was very rarely at a loss for words, he had to enjoy it while he could.

“Really?” said Veronica, still a little dumbstruck in the doorway.

“Yes yes yes,” Roger’s shaky hands gave John his wine glass before he crossed the room to her and squeezed the life out of her. She hugged back just as tight. “Thank you, Ronnie, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Rog, really,” laughed Veronica.

“A little drummer, Ronnie, a little loud obnoxious piece of shit, just like me! I can’t believe you want one, I really can’t—God I could kiss you! Ah, fuck it!” Roger pulled out of their hug just the slightest bit to wrap Veronica in a kiss that she eventually broke with a stumble backwards and a laugh.

“Rog, you’re still my fiancé,” said John with a laugh. Roger sat back down and took his wine glass back from John.

“Oh, wait, don’t bother with that shit. Let me get the good wine out now that I know we’re celebrating,” said Veronica. She rejoined them with a bigger more expensive looking bottle. Roger read the label out in bad french before pouring it for the three of them into their new glasses. “So that just leaves the appointment.”

“We have to get married first,” said John. “If we wait until after the next kid—”

“I wasn’t suggesting you put your marriage plans on hold,” said Veronica, one hand in the air in surrender, “I was only wondering when we should schedule the doctor. You’ll still have nine months after that.”

“I suppose, I just don’t want to be so preoccupied with the wedding that you’re dealing with pregnancy alone,” said John.

“I’m always dealing with the pregnancy alone,” laughed Veronica, “you two are just vehicles for food and heating pads.”

“Exactly! And if we’re trying to get married we won’t be able to bring you food and heating pads.”

“How’s this?” began Veronica, “I’ll schedule a visit for three months from now. We’ll see how the wedding plans are going by then. Even if it’s hectic, Roger can still donate. We’ve got the nine months of pregnancy to plan the wedding—and on top of that the first donation doesn’t always take.”

“Pfft!” said Roger, crossing his legs with a dramatic flourish, “you’re getting Taylor sperm this time around, Ronnie, you’ll be lucky if I don’t give you triplets.”

“Papa,” said a high-pitched, sleepy voice from the doorway. The three of them looked over and down to see little Robert standing their, teddy in one hand. “What’s sperm?”

Veronica and John turned back to Roger who was already choking on his words.

“Yeah, Rog, what _is_ sperm?” said John with a lot of fake curiosity, loving ever second of the death glare Roger shot him.

 

~~~

 

After Roger put Robert back to bed, they ate the dinner that Veronica made and talked more in detail about their plans. Three months from then, they’d get their doctor’s appointment. Realistically, John didn’t see the planning of a wedding taking that long. His wedding with Veronica took about two months, though she was pregnant at the time and there was a certain sense of urgency. But, as Roger pointed out, if they gave Freddie and Phoebe too much time to plan the wedding they’d end up with a larger-than-life soiree which wasn’t what either of them wanted.

They drank their weight in wine and kissed Veronica goodnight before stumbled down her stoop and up their own. Roger kept an arm around John’s waist while they walked and while he unlocked their door. He pulled John inside and danced him across the room to their couch where they both fell into the cushions. Roger, lying half on top of John, crushing him just a little bit, kissed John’s cheek, his nose, his lips, before nuzzling into his neck.

“I’m glad you said yes,” said Roger in his ear.

“To what? Marrying you?”

“No, to me being the baby,” said Roger, a bit quieter.

“Being the baby?” chuckled John.

“You knew what I meant.” Roger sat up just enough to look John in the eye. “I mean you didn’t say yes but you seemed happy—You’re okay with me being the father this time right?”

“You’re the father every time,” said John. “All three of those kids are yours too.”

“I know, I know but…it’s not weird to you that you’re not going to be able to give a kidney to this next one?” said Roger. “Actually, siblings are much better for organ transplant than parents but you know what I mean.”

“I get it, Rog, you have a biology degree,” laughed John.

“I mean it, John.” Roger’s face was serious if not a little flushed from all the wine. “You’re okay with this?”

“I’m ecstatic, Rog,” said John. Roger’s face broke into a sleepy smile. “I’m beyond happy.”

“You’re not…worried,” said Roger.

“Worried about what? We’re not exactly pioneering this, it’s our fourth kid. We’ve got a good understanding of how not to break them,” laughed John.

“You don’t think we’re making it harder on them?” said Roger. The lights were low and the sun had long ago set but John could just barely catch Roger’s eyes welling up. “Right now, when Robert’s at school, he can say that’s my mom and that’s my dad and that’s my dad’s boyfriend, he’s kind of like my dad. That’s already a mouthful—“

“You’re not kind of like his dad, you _are_ his—”

“But when the new kid comes what’s he gonna say? That’s my mom and that’s my dad, and that’s my other dad, he’s the biological dad of my three siblings but not me that’s why I look different from the rest of my fucking family—All of this shit on top of me existing in the first place!”

Roger had his moments of insecurity about the kids every once in a while. He loved them and he knew they loved him, back but ever since they decided to have Michael together he got bashful around other parents. He hated having to describe their unconventional family. Roger wouldn’t acknowledge it but John knew, he could tell it was still that residual guilt of having been involved in the divorce in the first place, alongside with the looks they all got when they went out as a family.

“Roger,” John put both hands on his face, “stop that.”

A few tears fell from his eyes and met John’s hands. Roger scoffed and sat up, wiping his cheeks too roughly. John sat up with him and put an arm across his shoulders.

“Roger, they’re happy, we’re happy. I don’t care what the other parents think, what the other kids think.”

“Neither do I,” said Roger, his voice a little hoarse, “but _the kids_ care. It’s horrible to be different when you’re young. It’s only fun when you’re grown and even then it’s not all that fun. The idea of having a fourth kid…who doesn’t even look like his siblings…It’s like we’re setting him up to fail.”

John ran a hand through Roger’s hair. It wasn’t a concern John wanted to dismiss. Life wasn’t going to be all that smooth for their kids and yes, it had to do with how they decided to make a family. But it wasn’t all this, it wasn’t this dire.

“Robert’s friends don’t mind us,” said John. “In fact, Robert’s friends like us. Everyone in this neighbourhood knows us and we’re still invited out, we’re still asked to babysit, we’re still swapping kids around every weekend. We’re in a good spot. Some of the school parents need time to adjust but it’s not a tragedy, Rog. And, hell, by the time our next one is going off to school, everyone’ll be used to us.”

Roger turned to him, tears staining his cheeks no matter how he tried to hide it. “You think?”

“I know. It’s adorable you’re so worried about them but, they’ve really inherited your inability to give a shit about things like that. They’ll be fine,” said John. Roger smiled weakly, like he was embarrassed for having got so worked up in the first place. He kissed John’s forehead and wrapped his arms around him.

“Married and a new baby, all in three months,” sighed Roger.

“The baby’s going to take longer than three months,” laughed John as he relaxed into Roger’s chest.

“Do you think it’ll be blond?”

“You’re a bottle blond, Rog. No the baby’s not going to be blond.”

Roger laughed and John nestled in closer, holding him a little tighter. He could fall asleep like that, he was sure.

“What do you think our kid would look like, like you and me,” said Roger.

“Ugly,” laughed John.

“Oh shut up, he’d be cute.”

“He’d be short.”

“Fuck off,” said Roger through a laugh. “I love Ronnie, I do, but I wish there was a way for us to have a baby.”

“Maybe you just aren’t fucking me hard enough,” said John, all his confidence supplied by the wine.

“That so…” Roger’s arm moved from John’s shoulders, down to his waist. “Maybe I should practise.”

“Kids aren’t back until tomorrow,” hummed John.

“They aren’t,” sighed Roger.

They were running upstairs and falling over each other into bed before they knew it. Something about the sloppy drunken sex he had with Roger always made his heart ache ja little more for him. He was so giggly but intense when he was just that little bit drunk and John was too. Part of him couldn’t believe rest of his life and getting to see and hear and feel Roger like this whenever he wanted.

He came with an embarrassing cry that Roger ate up. It didn’t take long for Roger to let out a low groan coupled with a bite to John’s shoulder as his hips stilled. He wiped John’s stomach off with his shirt that he tossed expertly in the hamper. Once he laid down he wrapped all four limbs around John and kissed his temple once, twice, before leaving one last exhausted kiss to John’s jaw.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” said Roger, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Why?”

“Brunch with Freddie, telling him about the proposals and a new baby? He’ll have a fit,” laughed Roger.

“He’s going to demand we name the baby after him since he’s got to plan the wedding so quickly.”

“We’ll name him Farrokh, see what he does.”

“Freddie’s not a bad name,” said John.

“I’ve always liked Felix. Maybe we can convince him the F is from Freddie.”

 

~~~

 

The next Monday started late and lazy with the four of them sauntering into brunch at Freddie’s at around ten. The idea was that since Freddie lived the closest they’d make their way from his to the studio, they’d finally get some work done if they just had brunch first. That was the plan but after a long and boozy night spent talking with Veronica, John could sooner see himself asleep on the couch than driving to work.

“Come through, come through, soup’s on,” said Freddie, as he ushered him and Roger inside.

“Hello,” said Brian through a yawn, already sat at the table. Freddie sat next to him and John and Roger across from them both. Roger picked up a croissant that John swatted out of his hand. He didn’t want to hear Roger moaning about the five pounds he’d gained in the car ride over to the studio later.

“So,” said Freddie, leaning back in his chair, “do you two have anything to announce to us?”

John looked to Roger who shook his head. “No don’t think so.”

Freddie rolled his eyes. “If you don’t say it, I won’t let Phoebe plan the wedding.”

“Oh that!” laughed John. “Yes, we’re engaged.”

“Congratulations! We had no idea!” said Brian with a dumb grin on his face. “Freddie and I didn’t have to carefully plan around your schedules to help you buy the rings without the other finding out or anything.”

“You said wanted an official announcement,” said Roger, unable to hide his laugh.

“And I meant it. Congratulations you two,” said Brian.

“And double that from me,” added Freddie. “So. The wedding.”

“We’re planning it for a few months from now,” said Roger. “I’ve not got much family, neither does John, it’s easy to corral everyone. Then two weeks in Bali and back home.”

“A few months?!” screamed Freddie, a closed fist slammed the table. “The fuck do you mean a few months! Phoebe’s going to have a conniption—I’m going to have a conniption! A few months is nothing for a wedding, are you trying to kill me!”

“Calm down, Fred,” said Brian, holding Freddie’s wrist to keep him from pounding the table again.

“You can do it,” said Roger. “You’ve done a lot bigger in a lot less time. It’ll be fine.”

Freddie just shook his head and crossed his arms.

“Why are you in such a hurry though,” said Brian awkwardly. “It’s not like you’ve been waiting for marriage.”

“Well, we do have one more announcement,” said John. He prodded Roger. It was his turn to tell them.

“Spit it out, Darling, I can’t take it,” groaned Freddie, a hand resting on his forehead for the added drama.

“The reason the wedding’s happening so quickly is because…we’re having another baby,” said Roger.

Freddie sat bolt upright, Brian did the same. They looked at each other and then back to Roger, skipping over John entirely.

“On purpose?” said Freddie.

John broke into a wheezing laugh while Roger confirmed that no it wasn’t going to be an accident. And if it was, it was a damn expensive accident.

“Well—Congratulations!” said Brian, looking stunned. It was nice to see their genuine reactions to big news since their news about the engagement was more of a surprise to John and Roger than it was to any of their friends.

“Yes! Yes, congratulations!” said Freddie. “Is it too early to break out the champagne?”

“It is if we’re supposed to be working later,” said John. “We’re planning on her getting pregnant in about three months and obviously it’ll be even longer before the baby’s born but we want to have time to honeymoon before Veronica needs us around full time again.”

“I’m assuming you’ll name it after me since you’re putting me through the hell of a three-month wedding?”

“We’ll consider it,” said Roger.

“I just can’t believe that poor woman’s willing to give birth yet again. And John’s kids are always so fucking huge.”

“They’re normal sized,” said John.

“Yes, for an ogre baby,” teased Freddie.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about that because I was a six pound baby,” said Roger.

Brian cocked his head and laughed. “Why are you bragging about being born underweight?”

“I,” Roger groaned, “it sounded better in my head, but the point is this baby is going to take after me because I’m going to be the biological father this time.”

“Oh God,” said Freddie, “a baby as hellish as Roger is really going to test my skills as an uncle.”

“I was a quiet little baby, it wasn’t until puberty that I became a menace,” correct Roger.

“You were born a menace and you’ll die a menace,” said Freddie. “Now! I say we fuck going to the studio today and instead head down and try on wedding dresses for the big day!”

“Agreed!” said Roger.

“Freddie, you know he’ll wear one, please don’t encourage him,” sighed John.

“I’m buying!” declared Freddie as he shot up from the table.

Later that afternoon, in a vintage costume shop with the three of them, all trying on odds and ends from Edwardian disasters of costumes as ‘potential tuxes’, John couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. He had Veronica, he had Roger, he would soon have a husband. His career was only getting better, his friends had never been closer, and in a year he’d have a son or daughter with big blue eyes. He’d set the stage for the perfect life and watching Roger try on big ruffled collars and offer them up as ‘possible wedding reception options’ made him sure it would all work out perfect. Or better.


End file.
